The Counterfeit Cousin
by Tsume Yuki
Summary: In which Lucius Malfoy decides to off a political opponent with a little black book and Tom Riddle finds himself with a new body and a lot of catching up to do. Of course, the orphan beneath the stairs is just happy that a family member finally came to rescue him. A Tom adopts Harry, somewhat dark fic.
1. Prologue

**The Counterfeit Cousin**

_x_

**_Prologue_  
**

Flesh stretched over the tendons attaching fingers to hand to wrist, the appendage reaching out. Finely tuned finger-tips brushed across worn black leather, of which age had not been kind to. The once exceedingly dark cover was riddled with dust, worn and in dire need of treatment if it were ever to live another year. But the little leather bound journal, the little diary, was no longer needed. Obsolete, it's purpose served and no, it was of no use any more. The sentimental value was long gone, burnt and ashes in his black hole of a heart now. So long had it been his prison; a house offering no comfort, no touch or sound or visual stimulus that he no longer cared for it.  
Maybe even loathed it a little.  
Yes, no love was lost.

The long fingers curled around a wand -ash with unicorn hair, not favourable at all- before tightening, testing the weight that'd been a foreign eternity for so long. Magic swirled beneath his skin before shooting down the core and out of the wand tip, spitting fire as it went.

The book lit up red with flames, bright crimson bleeding across the blackening cover, the scent of old, burning parchment stretching across the room. It spread, hungry, from the coffee table housing the book to the body laid beside it. Daniel Spencer, a muggle loving political opponent of the dark, was shrouded by the fire, disappearing behind the smoke and odour of burning flesh.

And for the first time in fifty years, Tom Riddle stood tall and enjoyed the death around him.

* * *

Harry Potter was six years old. Six and a half if one wanted to be somewhat closer to this true age. Even still, if one were to say that they'd still be many days out, but very few people went into detail past asking Harry for his age, never-mind his name. So he'd never before had to figure out his exact age. Not that he'd never been bored enough to do so before.

It'd just been a while since he'd last done it, and at this moment in time, he had no sudden urge to start crunching the numbers. Regardless, the important fact to take away from this was that Harry Potter had seen six years in his life. Six cycles around the sun, six years worth of living.

And Harry Potter was not like other six year old boys.

.

Today was the twenty-fifth of December, and like every child that he knew of, Harry knew that today was Christmas day. A day that meant several things, presents, crackers, chocolates, Christmas dinner and most important of all; family. That's what Christmas day was made of.

At least, that's what Christmas day meant to Dudley Dursley, the cousin of Harry Potter.

To Harry however, Christmas meant none of these things. Other than that which he would not be permitted.

Instead, he had been awoken by his uncle, a brute of a man with the largest moustache that Harry had seen so far, and informed that it was his duty to clear the drive-way of the snow. Harry did not see the point in this, for it way Christmas day, what use could his uncle possibly have of the car, where could he go? Everywhere was shut and the man's dear sister did not appreciate being bothered upon this day, it was her time to spend with the precious dogs she bred.

But Harry knew better than to ask questions, or even worse, to question orders now. He did want to eat today, even if it were only left-over scraps that Dudley could not physically force down his throat. Aunt Petunia had taken to stopping that now, ever since the boy had started throwing up all his over indulgences but an hour later. One body could only take so much.

So, Harry had outfitted himself with his cousin's hand-me-down, oversized coat, along with the matching boots that were far too big and saw him slipping about inside the soles, whilst he armed himself with a shovel. And then, he got to work.

The second he finished cleaning the drive-way, a hefty four hours later, he was shoved inside his cupboard with a bowl-full of left-over vegetables that Dudley had refused to even look at. In the dim lighting of his little room, he'd even found that a piece of stuffing and the smallest bit of Yorkshire pudding had made it's way into his bowl, and for that he was thankful.

He could already hear his cousin outside the thin wooden door, complaining about the lack of some super-toy or another that all the other kids would surely have upon his return to school. Harry had seen the mountain of presents that were housed within the living room; in all honesty, the toy requested was probably buried somewhere near the bottom. He had already listened to Dudley whine that the presents that'd sat at the foot of his bed hadn't been plentiful enough for his tastes.

Dejectedly, Harry looked at the foot of his bed, which met the wall. The mattress was a tight fit in the little cupboard, Harry wasn't going to lie. There was no point; his room was small. A small room, for a small boy.

Carefully, he placed the empty bowl -licked clean- upon the shelf above his head, installed before he was within the cupboard under the stairs. His aunt and uncle would never go out of their way to make his little part of their home comfier for him. It was pure luck it'd already been there.

.

Outside of his little room, he heard the door-bell ring and his uncle's surprised snort. The man muttered something out under his breath about carollers, but Harry wasn't close enough to catch the full extent of the threat. And it was without a doubt a threat, of that he was almost sure.

The vibrations from his uncle's heavy foot-falls echoed through his cupboard, dancing up his mattress and along the worn skin that rested upon the underside of his toes, feet pressed against the flimsy door. There were muffled voices from outside, which slowly began to rise and Harry's curiosity was peaked.

By now, his uncle would usually have slammed the door in the intruders face, of that, Harry was almost certain. He knew for a fact his uncle's temper was shorter than Dudley's list of completed books. He knew the man should have blown up now, but instead all that remained was silence, broken only by Petunia's soft laughter at whatever had captured her interest upon the television.

Soft footsteps that could in no way belong to his uncle came down the hall-way now, steady and sure of themselves as they made their way closer and closer to Harry's door. He held his breath, mind instantly whirling to the wish he'd made that very morning.

He'd accepted the fact Christmas wishes didn't come true two years ago, but that didn't stop him from making one hope-filled attempt every year. And it was always the same thing; please please please let some family, no matter how close or far the relation, appear and take him away from all of this. Surely it wasn't happening?

He couldn't think any further than that, for the latch upon his door clicked before it slid open, allowing the brighter light of the hallway to enter his room.

.

The first thing Harry noticed about the stranger was that he was young. He couldn't be ten years older than Harry, with thick dark hair that fell in crisp waves. Dark eyes and pale skin, the teen looked like something out of aunt Petunia's period dramas, his face an unreadable mask. But that was just it, for as young as the boy looked, he carried himself as someone much older. He was stood tall, one hand wrapped around the top of the cupboard door, the other clutching at a thin piece of bleached wood in his other hand.

Harry stared up at the boy with confusion smeared across his face. All he could focus on was the boys face, picking out the features that they shared. There weren't many, but Harry didn't think he'd looked too much like Dudley either, so there was still some hope lingering deep within his mind that maybe, just maybe.

"Harry Potter," the boy mused, voice like silk and all things rich, he spoke as close to royalty as Harry could imagine. And he was saying Harry's name. "Harry," the teen finally settled on, no expression crossing his face as he gestured for Harry to leave his cupboard.

Slowly and exceedingly cautious of his uncle, who may or may not be lurking in wait, Harry took a tentative step outside, looking around.

The query of his uncle was answered instantly. The man was crumpled by the door as if his spine had been turned into jelly, like someone had put him to sleep. He couldn't see if his chest was moving up and down or not.

Panic whirled through Harry, and he flinched as a hand came down upon his shoulder.

"None of that, the muggle is alive. For now." Foreboding was thick within the tone the boy used, words still sounding expensive and golden on his tongue. "Harry, my name is Tom Riddle, you and I just so happen to be distant cousins. I would be thrilled if you were to come and live with me."

It was almost every fantasy he'd ever had, all rolled into one. Not his parents, not his grand-parents, but someone.

Someone who had come, who had spoken his name and who had offered him a home.

Harry's hand tightened upon the appendage that rested atop his shoulder instantly, breath caught in his throat.

He really didn't need to say much more than that.

* * *

Tom sneered down at the muggle man now that he had Harry firmly held in front of him, where the boy couldn't see his face.

It'd been two weeks since he'd stepped back into the living world, two weeks that he'd spent researching and catching up with the times. He'd been thoroughly shocked and furious upon what he'd found.

His future self, defeated by a year old babe, not even out of the cradle yet.

He'd looked into everything, because there was no way in which he could have been felled by a mere child, it was just not done.

The mudblood mother had been the best lead, the 'brightest witch of her age' was a rather grand title to hold, so he'd instantly latched onto it. He'd scavenged the sight, locating a personally written journal that she'd written. After disabling the wards that prevented it's removal from the 'historic site' that was.

What he'd found had left him somewhat sceptical. Light magic, blood magic. The former of which he'd never even bothered to look into, the latter of which he'd been unaware to work with the former without explosive reactions.

Clearly when he'd dismissed light magic as none threatening, he'd missed something.

.

Which was why he was here. If there was on thing he could study to find the cause of his down-fall, it was the boy. There was without a doubt lingering traces of the witch's magic upon him, and even from outside the house he'd been able to feel the thick protective magic that'd stuck to the boy like a politician to a Malfoy.  
There was a slight feeling of pity, of comradeship when he saw the 'saviour of the wizarding world' and his living conditions.

It only cemented the idea of getting the boy out and into the world of magic, to study him. And now, there was an interesting idea presented before him.

Because Tom had fully expected the boy to be with a light family, raised against the dark. But a quick skim of his surface thoughts showed the boy wasn't even aware of magic's existence, never-mind the idea of dark and light magic being on separate sides. If he played his cards right, he could twist the boy that could be a threat into his greatest ally. It would require a delicate hand. But it could be done.

And let it never be said Tom Marvolo Riddle did not stretch boundaries, of magic or otherwise.

He steered Harry towards the door, allowing the boy to pass through the threshold first as he dodged around the form of his uncle. Tom didn't so much as step over the man as he did step on the man's outstretched hand. It was petty, but he was sixteen after all. He could afford to be a little petty in regards to this man. He'd allow himself it, because in all honesty, there wouldn't be as much fun to have now that he had to look after his famous little test subject.

Harry was stood nervously on the little stone path that led from his house to the street, hands clasped before him and looking obviously nervous. Tom made his way over and kept walking to the main street, already able to tell where the heavy wards on the house ended. And after a moment of hesitation, Harry finally jogged after him, still looking anxiously back at his house, as if expecting his uncle to leap back to his feet and come after him. Unlikely.  
The spell would of course wear off, it'd just be a good twelve hours before it did so. He might have gone a bit overboard, but Tom couldn't find it in himself to care.

Not that he usually could.

"Harry, I'm sure you're well aware by now that unusual things happen around you whenever your emotions heighten, correct?"

The Potter boy frowned, clearly trying to muddle through his words and Tom forced himself not to grimace. Of course the boy wasn't a genius like him, he wouldn't understand the words that a six year old Tom Riddle could have done. On one hand it was good, because he'd be able to lead the boy in any direction he wanted, but on the other hand, Tom despised dumbing himself down.

It was going to be a long-term study, that much was evident.

"I turned my teacher's hair blue three weeks ago... And when aunt Petunia cut my hair off it grew back in a night," the boy was exceptionally quiet as he spoke, not even looking at Tom and focusing upon his ratty shoes instead. "Do-do you know how I did that?"

Tom gingerly placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, sighing as he did so and mentally reminding himself studying the boy would go easier if Harry wanted to help him. Which led to these attempt at comforting him, even if it made Tom feel beyond uncomfortable.

"I do indeed know why those things happened Harry. We share a gift that the rest of your family do not, and clearly they were rightfully scared by it. Which is why I'm taking you in, it will do you no good to continue living with them when you don't belong there. I promise I will explain as soon as we are somewhere safe." Holding out his hand now for Harry to take, Tom forced a smile onto his face, already remembering the gesture from back when he was a perfect and had to comfort home-sick first years.

"Now I am going to use a form of instant travel to take us somewhere safe. It will feel like you're been squeezed through a small tube but it only lasts for a short while. Do you trust me?" He probably shouldn't have thrown in that last bit, he'd given Harry no reason to trust him so far. He'd given no proof that they were related, even if he already knew for certain that they were.

And yet, the green eyes that looked up at him were so certain as a small hand slipped into his own.

"I do."

And with that, Tom Riddle and Harry Potter apperated away.

* * *

**Someday I would stop getting idea's that I can't turn down, but as it stands, today is not that day. **

**So as it stands, Tom doesn't know of the prophecy, he only knows what the general public do. And Harry is Harry.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Tsume  
xxx**


	2. Part 1, Chapter 1

**The Counterfeit Cousin**

_x_

**_Part 1  
_Chapter 1**

Sitting upon the worn wooden chair, Tom Riddle tapped his neatly cut fingernails against the surface of the equally old desk. The wood wasn't of good quality, and fifty years of remaining unused, uncared for, saw to the fact it'd deteriorated to the point it was at currently. The smooth floorboards were cool beneath his bare feet, toes resting against the edge of the coving that extended around the wall, creating a board between floor and wallpaper. The wall-paper of the room a simple thing, a basic geometric pattern that his older self had clearly not thought offensive enough on the eyes to rip down when he'd moved in.

It'd been a surprise, when upon walking into Borgin and Burkes, old man Borgin had given him such an odd look. It'd only take a brush of legilimency against the man's mind, the smooth, undetected kind that could burrow past shields, to find out why.

Apparently his older self had worked in this very shop right out of graduation, but disappeared not a year into the job. He'd been good, not that Tom would have expected himself to purposely slack off while working, even if it was of the menial shop-keeper kind. He'd no doubt charmed many a person into handing over valuable family artefacts at what was probably half the price. Back at school he'd been able to enamour all the pure-blood children into handing over all sorts of objects without having to pay a knut for it. It would be no surprise whatsoever if he'd used his impressive persuasive skills whilst on the job. But clearly he'd found what he was looking for not too long after he'd started working here, for he'd fled not long after.

However, and he thanked that paranoia Dumbledore had been fuelling for years, he'd thought far enough ahead to know he might need a safe house. Perhaps, several safe-houses. And he'd paid Borgin enough to kept the man from renting out the attic apartment of the shop, which he'd spent the vast majority of his job living in.

So, when the man had approached him, asking if he'd be taking up residence again, Tom had jumped at the chance. Which was good, because now he had somewhere to stay for a day or two before he fled the country with Harry Potter. Because one does not kidnap a national icon and then remain in the country whilst they tried searching for him. And speaking off Harry Potter..

Tom twisted his head slightly, looking at the dark haired child that was currently nestled up in the single bed within the attic apartment.

It was early morning now, the rest of Christmas day having past by. Tom had been awake for well over twenty four hours, but he could mange easily. Harry Potter however, could not. He was a six year old child, and no doubt would get very tired being dragged about after Tom, especially with all that he had planned for the day. Which was why he'd hit the boy with a sleeping charm the second he'd landed in the apartment. The boy would easily believe he'd been tired, for he was a child, and all children get tired.

The boy was currently pressing the left hand side of his face into the fluffy pillow, short little breaths fluttering out between his parted lips. The thick duvet was pulled up and tucked around his shoulders, not only securing the boy in place, but keeping him sufficiently warm in the cool air that came with a winter night. He was a small child, smaller than a boy his age should be, with big green eyes, which were surprisingly bright when not hidden behind the hideous glasses he'd come equipt with.

That was the reason that Tom had been awake for most of the night; the boy's glasses were a weakness. If he lost them, judging by how blurry the world had become when Tom put them on as test, he'd be a sitting target. That was not good. So he'd spent the night brewing a potion to correct the boy's eyesight permanently. One less weakness meant that his brilliant little test subject wouldn't be getting any injuries that were avoidable. Or, so he hoped.

The glasses themselves were an obvious clue to the abuse the young boy had suffered, all crackled lenses and the bridge framework cello-taped together. And wasn't that a surprise.

While he'd been researching little Harry Potter, he'd found a little interview with Albus Dumbledore not long after Voldemort's fall, the topic of which had been the beloved boy saviour. The old man had claimed the boy safe, protected and happy, housed with a loving family. If that was Dumbledore's idea of love, Tom shuddered to think of what the man thought of a hateful family. On the plus side, it'd make the boy easy to manipulate, to play on his emotions. Tom had experience, he'd dealt with orphans before after all. He knew he'd have to handle the boy with care, and if it came down to it, Tom could always play the orphan card with the boy, bond over that fact. He didn't particularly want to, but if it was advantageous, who was he to complain?

He was still annoyed with what he'd gleamed from the muggle uncle's mind. The harsh way they'd dealt with a magical child, all but starving him, shoving him away so that he was out of sight and out of mind. Using him like a house-elf. It was unacceptable. And Tom wanted to do something vicious, something that would make the man hurt as much as Harry no doubt had. But he'd held back, a small voice in the back of his mind telling him to wait. That if he got Harry on side, he could present the three muggles as a gift to the boy, to let him get his own revenge. Tom knew all about revenge, he knew how sweet it could taste upon the tongue, how the victorious feeling could curl about in the stomach. If he taught Harry well, the boy would grow to appreciate it too, as long as he didn't become a threat. He needed to make sure the boy was one hundred percent on side first before he could start teaching him the meatier bits of magic. But if done right, he'd get a very powerful follower out of it.  
After all, who had the ability to block a killing curse? Even if it was some magic done by his mother, he wouldn't have to worry about the boy on the battlefield as long as he was trained up, that was for sure.

Thinking on followers, Tom's lips pulled down into a scowl. He'd scoured the articles, every single one of them, looking for any loyal followers that he may be able to get access to. What he found was infuriating.

His loyal followers, the ones that'd stood by him even after his defeat, were in Azkaban. Three Lestranges -even if one was once a Black-, a Crouch, two Carrows, the list was quite impressive. Many pure-bloods had stood by him and got sentenced anyway. He was pleased, obviously he hadn't lost him ability to inspire loyalty.

What was annoying however, was those that'd slipped through the net.

One Lucius Malfoy had claimed imperious curse, which had forced him into taking the mark. Tom knew that wasn't true, that he couldn't bind that mark to someone unless it was of their own free-will. So the man had obviously thrown money at the ministry till the problem had gone away. Tom would reserve judgement for now. If the man had slipped away to build contacts for his return, he'd let him off with a light punishment. He'd certainly be getting punished for denouncing him in public, escaping prison or not. And if he had seriously just slipped away for the sake of his continued well-being... Well, he wouldn't wouldn't be in good health by the time Tom was done with him. Neither would his family.

Another one who'd all but signed his death warrant was Severus Snape. The man had served as a double agent, a spy for Dumbledore. And nothing could have made Tom angrier than a man choosing the head-master over him.

And wasn't that an awful thought. Dumbledore, in charge of a school full of impressionable children. It was a wonder he'd had any followers under the age of thirty with the man manipulating them for seven years of their life. He'd get Harry trained up, then he'd free his followers from Azkaban. Or sooner, if he could manage it. However, there was one big question that he'd still not gotten an answer for.

Why had he gone after Harry? Why shoot a killing curse at the boy? In the books it was said that he'd killed James Potter first, who'd faced him wandless when he'd shown up at the door. Then he'd gone up to the nursery, where Lily Potter had been stood before her child. That'd led to the mud-blood's death.

Why had he then attempted to kill a child? It wasn't his style, to show up and not cause mass panic, but to specifically target that particular family, to move in the shadows to try and kill a year old baby. There was something more to this, and he needed answer.

Answers that could quite possibly be in Harry's head.

.

Getting to his feet, Tom silently padded over to the kitchenette, looking through the cupboards he'd stocked up the previous day. There was a box of cereal sat off the to the side, which he pulled out before summoning two dishes from the counter-worktop. A thin glass of milk followed, floating through the air. The glass glowed with a cooling charm, keeping the milk chilled while it'd sat out for the past two days.

Popping the top off with a flick of his wand, Tom saw the white liquid empty into the two bowls in equal amounts before banishing the remains. He turned, looking back at the dark head of hair upon the bed, the occupant having rolled over until he was now facing the wall. A little snore escaped his lips which Tom rolled his eyes at. It could have been worse. It was the first time the boy had snored all night, and he'd been asleep for near enough eighteen hours.

The two bowls floating along side him, Tom dragged the chair closer to the bed, spinning the wooden seat until it was angled towards Harry. He settled the two bowls upon the desk, determined to gently break the idea of magic to Harry. Once again, not something Tom had ever experienced before. He'd reacted badly to the old man setting his wardrobe alight, and he'd been a rather tough and stoic child. He shuddered to think how Harry would handle that.

Double checking that there was no obviously magical items present within the room, Tom leant forwards, gently tapping his wand against the younger boy's temple. Upon sitting back, he reached for the potion he'd spent the night making, watching Harry.

The young boy woke up slowly, blinking those brilliant green eyes as he slowly sat up. The duvet slipped slowly down his body, pooling around his waist, the white pyjama top Tom had transfigured for the boy crinkling. He was thinner than Tom had expected too, something which needed to be fixed, fast. It was unhealthy, and he refused to have a ward that was not at his hundred perfect best.

Rubbing at his eye with one hand, Harry blinked sleepily before startling to attention. He'd gathered from the muggle's mind that they never let the boy sleep in, waking him first thing in the morning and demanding he do chores. Recently, they'd started him on cooking, which meant his aunt would demand his presence in the kitchen right away. Tom could see the exact point the boy realized that he wasn't in his cupboard anymore, the widening of the eyes, the relaxation of his shoulders, the tilt of his head. Slowly, the boy turned to look at him, expression lighting up with unashamed hope. He'd have to teach the boy how to hold a proper mask, because this was almost pitiful to watch.

"It wasn't a dream." The breathy little whisper saw something clench in Tom's stomach, but it wasn't guilt or shame. Instead, it was a sense of familiarity. How many times had he wished as a small child, desperate for the father he never knew, his disgusting muggle father, to show up and snatch him away from the orphanage? That was before he learnt there was no point to those day-dreams, that they were useless and weren't going to help him. That he'd have to put his foot down and take control of his own life because no one was coming for him.

Harry hadn't completed that lesson yet. But Tom would make sure the boy knew he couldn't lean too much on Tom. That he needed to be able to stand on his own two feet because Tom wouldn't baby him for long. Just until he was sure the boy was on side.

"Good morning Harry, would you like some breakfast?"

The boy blushed furiously, looking down at the duvet that covered his thin legs, fingers clenched up in the sheets.

"Yes Please Mr Riddle..." The boy trailed off, daring to tilt his head and turn those big, hopeful green eyes on him.

"Tom will do Harry, we are cousins after all, no matter how distant. I hope cereal is okay?"

The boy nodded meekly, accepting the bowl with steady hands, holding it close to his chest like it might be ripped away at any moment. Tom soundlessly picked up his own bowl, eating a spoonful and watching the boy the whole time. Harry caught him from the edge of his vision, blushing but nevertheless taking a bite of his own breakfast.

"Do you remember yesterday when I explained that both you and I were different, that we were special compared to your relatives?"

Once again the boy nodded and Tom bit his tongue, stopping himself from demanding the boy to answer him verbally. He needed to take it slow and steady, to not scare the boy off. He probably didn't even know what the word verbally meant anyway.

"That's because we can do magic."

"Magic isn't real," Harry whispered, having jolted when Tom had spoken again. Some of the milk within his bowl had jumped over the side, splattering across the duvet. It took Harry a second to notice, but when he did he looked mortified at the mess he'd made, hands wrapped around the bowl but clearly unable to decide if he should drop the bowl to clean up the mess or not make a bigger one.

"Watch," Tom mused, drawing the ash and unicorn wand and giving it a light flick.

Instantly the milk not contained within the bowl vanished, leaving the sheets as clean as they had been but a moment ago. Those vivid eyes turned back on him again, filled with wonderment and awe. He'd been on the end of those looks before, when all the other children within his year group would witness him mastering the magic they were taught with a flawless ease. They would hold him in reverence, treat him like a demi-god amongst mortals. So the look wasn't unexpected, but satisfaction still warmed his body at the sight of it, even after all these years.

"Your family were muggles, someone without magic. Your aunt and uncle tried to deny it's existence so they wouldn't feel inferior in comparison to us. Rightly so. Being able to use magic makes us better than them, it makes us stronger. And they can't understand that, so they try to pretend it isn't there, they try to live in ignorance."

Harry was frowning and seemed to have forgotten all about his cereal. If it weren't for Tom's magic stabilizing the bowl, it'd have gone all over the sheets by now. Thankfully, the boy seemed to have gotten the gist of what he was saying, for he was looking at Tom as if he was suddenly the center of the universe, that nothing else matter more than what Tom had to say. The older boy had to admit it was a most pleasing sensation, to be the focus of such obvious concentration.

"So I'm magic?"

"A wizard to be precise, like myself. I'm willing to teach you, as long as you behave well enough." The last part was said in a teasing, almost condescending manner, but the six year old took it as if the words were law. He nodded his head, a determined frown upon his face as he shifted about upon the bed.

Finishing the last of his cereal, Tom flicked Daniel Spencer's wand and the bowl flew over to the sink to begin washing itself up. He enjoyed Harry's open mouthed astonishment, spoon half raised to his lips.

"Finish your breakfast, we have things to do. That is, if you want to learn anything?"

Harry finished his breakfast quickly. Tom was sure the boy would suffer some form of bloating as a result, or at least a stomach ache, but that wasn't his problem. Harry would learn to control himself, the boy was smart enough to link the discomfort back to eating too fast and he'd adjust accordingly. Tom certainly wasn't here to give him all the answers to life.

It was at this point the boy realized he was missing his glasses. He'd spent the past ten minutes squinting at everything and now he began pawing around the single bed in a panic, no doubt looking for his spectacles.

"If you're looking for your glasses, don't bother. They're useless."

"But I can't see without them," the whimper came from Harry's lips before he could stop himself, and he slapped his hands over his mouth as if expecting Tom to hit him. The older boy wouldn't. It was too muggle, and he didn't dare start to punish the boy yet. Even if he did start, it'd only be the odd thing, like a very weak stinging hex or a leg locker jinx. And that wouldn't be until the boy was comfortable enough for Tom to start exerting his authority. Raising a child, even his test subject, was going to be harder than he thought.

"I have a potion to fix that."

"A potion?"

Tom hummed in agreement, reaching for the vial that sat on the desk, uncorking it with a low pop.

"Potions are just one way of using magic, they can heal wounds, replenish blood, or in this case, fix your eyesight. Drink it all."

Harry accepted the vial, placing it beneath his nose and taking a small sniff. His face twisted with disgust, green eyes darting back to him nervously. Tom expected the boy to complain, like any other child would have done, but instead the boy downed the whole thing with one gulp, coughing violently once he was done. Tom summoned a glass of water, pressing it against the boy's lips till he drank.

"Potions may taste bad, but the effects outweigh that. It's just a fact of life." He'd yet to find a pleasant potion to take, the nutrient potions the matron of the hospital wing gave him were a prime example.

"I can see!" Harry yelped, blinking and looking around the room as if everything was brand new and just as fascinating, like it was the most magnificent thing he'd ever seen before. The whole place made Tom sneer in disgust.

"That is the idea of the potion Harry."

The younger boy frowned slightly, clearly upset at the reprimand before he turned his gaze to the pots, which were now drying themselves.

"Do I- do I have any chores to do?"

"For now, no, we have magic to do most of it. If I need your help in the future though, I shall be sure to let you know. Now, if I am going to take you on as a student, we need some ground rules. First off, if I say something, you listen. If I ask you to do something, you do it. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded slowly, a frown present on his lips and his dark eyebrows furrowed. The famous lightning bolt scar was sticking out from under his unruly black fringe and Tom frowned. He'd have to see if he could do something about that, but he'd heard many a tale regarding the famous Potter hair. Charlus Potter, Harry's grandfather, had been a few years ahead of Tom and his hair had been just as untameable.

"I won't ask anything of you that you aren't willing to do." _Not yet anyway_. "If you have questions you can ask them, okay?"

When the boy nodded, Tom moved on to the next one.

"I expect you to be a good study. I won't accept laziness. If I'm going to teach you, I want you doing your own research, your own reading, along with practising in your own time too. Do you understand that?"

"Studying magic, right?"

"I'll still expect you to keep up the things you were learning in school, but yes, that's it basically." He could always come up with some more rules later if need be. For now- He took hold of the spare robe he'd left folded on the dresser, shrinking it down until it would fit Harry's small physique and passing it to the boy.

"Put that on, we're going out into the magical world and it would do no good to stand out."

.

The two of them made their way down the staircase, the wood of the third step from the bottom creaking beneath Tom's feet but not giving so much as a groan when Harry followed after him. He had to get the boy up to a healthy weight, what those muggles had done was despicable. Not even he would do that to a magical child. Well, at least, he'd never thought of doing that to a magical child before. Hum, best not to test that theory with Harry around.

Pulling the handkerchief of from his pocket, Tom transfigured it into an age appropriate hat before jamming it down upon Harry's head, making sure it covered the scar completely.

"Here are the rules for this outing. Unfortunately, you're very famous in the wizarding world for something you did as a baby Harry, I'll tell you why when we finish up our business, okay? So your name is Harry White okay, and my name is Thomas White for the day. When we step foot out that door, you are my younger brother until we come back through that door, understand?"

Harry nodded slowly, an indecipherable look within his eyes. Skimming his thoughts with legilimency, Tom soon found out why.

The boy didn't think it was so bad to pretend that Tom was his big brother. That he was family closer than what the Dursleys had been to him. It wouldn't be difficult pretending, because he wanted desperately for Tom to really be his older sibling. That made Tom feel awkward. He'd never understood the need for companionship on such a level, only that it existed and he could use such a bond to his advantage at times.

"You can not take that hat off your head because otherwise we'll be in trouble. I'm not suppose to have taken you, and if someone recognises you, then you'll be taken back to the Dursleys and I won't be able to come back for you."

Fear, pure unadulterated fear seeped into Harry's eyes and the boy nodded his head violently, reaching for Tom's hand and clutching at it desperately with one of his own. He allowed it, for it would mean the boy would be kept close and there was less chance of losing him. That didn't mean he wanted the child's sticky, sweaty fingers wrapped within his own, but with a cleaning spell, he'd make do.

"I'm Harry White, and you're my big brother, Thomas White," Harry murmured, biting his lip as he looked at the closed door that led out onto Knockturn Alley. They shouldn't have any problems, not with the aura of magic and menace that Tom could throw about him like candy.

"Good, let's get going."

.

They came out of the entrance to Knockturn Alley and were instantly faced with the hassle and bustle of Diagon Alley. With it being boxing day, there was no doubt a great many sales on, and a great many people attempting to get the best damn deal that they could. Harry took one look at the crowd and all but pressed himself against Tom's side, hiding almost behind him as the grip on his hand tightened with nerves.

Tom let his sharp eyes take in everything he saw, from the pure-bloods that parted the vast majority of the crowd like the red sea, to the bronze haired boy perhaps a year or two older than Harry begging his father for the newest broom on the market. Tom himself had no taste for flying, but perhaps Harry would like it? He'd have to give the boy something to do other than study, least his brain melt from his ears. Much the same as Lestrange's had threatened to do whilst studying for their OWL's.

The snow which had once again fallen overnight had been spelled off the cobbled street, though it remained upon the roofs of the shops in great big clumps of white.

"Stay close," Tom muttered beneath his breath, just loud enough for Harry to catch. A second hand came up to cradle his wrist now, the grip surprisingly tight. Already he was Harry's constant in this overly active crowd. As an afterthought, he hit Harry's hat with a sticking charm, making sure the famous scar wouldn't be making an appearance today.

With a sure step, Tom took off into the swarm of people, Harry clutching at his limb like it were a life-line. With ease Tom manoeuvred them through the throng of people, subtle magical manipulation seeing to it that everyone cleared a path for him. The imposing figure of Gringotts bank stood high in the sky, blocking out the low winter sun that'd only just risen up.

"Gringotts bank," Tom explained to Harry after he'd dragged his young charge to walk beside him, even if the boy insisted on pressing up against him still, "you parents have probably left you a good amount of money in there."

"My mum and dad were-"

"Magical too? Yes, they were."

People hurrying to and from the bank instinctively jolted out of their way as they made their way up the stairs, Harry's eyes still wide with awe as he looked about Diagon Alley. Taking a quick glance of the place, even Tom had to admit the alley had a certain charm to it, especially with the snow covering winter had provided. Breath curling visibly in the air before him, Tom gave Harry's arms a little tug with his own. The boy began moving instantly and the two passed between the impressive front doors.

.

The teller at the bank sneered down at them and Tom sneered back, as was the way with goblins. Harry just pressed buried his face further into Tom's side in response.

"You want the Riddle vault, and the Potter vault? Do the masters have their keys?"

"I'm afraid not, and I have no idea where Harry's is, he never came with one." He knew blood identification would be enough, so pricked the fingers of both Harry and himself, allowing no more than one droplet of blood to touch the paper for each of them. Blood after all, was both precious and dangerous in their world. It could do untold damage if a wizard was knowledgeable enough. Wizards like Tom.

The goblin gave a hum of appreciation before ducking behind his desk, no doubt climbing down to the floor. The goblins wouldn't sell them out to the ministry, and the second Harry agreed to have Tom as his magical guardian, Dumbledore wouldn't be able to demand answers from them either.

"Come along," the goblin murmured, not even gesturing for them to follow, instead just walking over to the door that no doubt led to a cart.

Curious, Harry began walking forwards, even though his hand never left Tom's. A few house-wives had looked over at the two and cooed from their place in line and it'd taken all Tom had not to sneer at them. He was a Dark Lord. He didn't do cute. The corridor to the mine-cart was short, their footsteps echoing around the walls as they walked. Tom remained expressionless, whilst Harry seemed unable to keep the wonderment he felt off his face. It was obvious, from his wide eyes and flushed cheeks, down to the slight parting of his lips.

The goblin hopped in and Tom followed after it, feeling the sticking charm that kept all customers from falling off activating. Harry dropped into the seat next to him, letting out a little squeak of delight as the cart took off. His dark hair was thrown back and Tom was thankful for the fact he'd thought ahead and placed a sticking charm upon the hat, otherwise it'd have no doubt blown off by now. They raced downwards, the roar of a dragon reverberating up around the stone walls and a flash of fire lit up the lower levels which were far, far below them.

"What was that?" Harry gasped from beside him, leaning over the side as if he could see the source. Even now with his perfect eyesight he'd be hard-pressed to see the beast in question though.

"Dragon," the goblin replied gruffly, pulling at a lever which saw them switch tracks, no doubt heading for Harry's vault first, as requested. Tom had made sure to annul any keys that were already in circulation for the boy's vault. He didn't need anyone else taking for the boy's funding, because Tom certainly wasn't paying for the boy. Not when he didn't need to.

"Dragon's are real?" Harry whispered, looking nervous at asking another question. The goblin offered a sharp tooth grin as they stopped, stepping out the cart.

"Of course. Gringotts dragons have killed many a thief."

The gulp from Harry was audible and Tom had to fight back smile. Children, their emotions were so easy to manipulate. The goblin took Harry's new key and slipped it in the hole, twisting. There was a groan from the door before it opened, exposing the mounds of gold within. Tom knew for certain it was just a small vault to provide funds for Harry's schooling, but the boy who owned the money was looking as if he'd just been told he was a prince.

"We'll have a thousand galleons in an expandable bag," Tom ordered, knowing that goblin magic would see the process done quickly. That way they wouldn't have to come back to the bank any time soon. And he was rather anxious to see how much he had in his vault too.

.

They were back on the cart now, heading to the Riddle vault. Harry had his money bag attached to his wrist now, holding it close. He was silent, no doubt struggling to take in the fact he had so much money. The only thing he'd asked Tom was if that money had really been all his, to which Tom had replied affirmative. He'd wait a bit to tell Harry there was a bigger family vault. The boy appeared to be in enough shock. No doubt the muggles had constantly told him he was costing them money, that he wasn't worth the effort. While here in London there'd been a certified fortune beneath the stone.

The Riddle vault was a little further down than Harry's trust vault, but nowhere near the depth of the old family vaults. Tom looked over the side of the cart, frowning to himself. There had probably been a Gaunt vault down there at one time, back before his greedy ancestors gambled all their inheritance away. It was amazing the family had managed to survive up until the point Merope Gaunt had given birth to him. Tom paused, thinking back on the living conditions he'd seen over summer, just before he created the diary going into sixth year. Then again, the Gaunt family had clearly been hanging on the edge, if it wasn't for his birth, it'd be extinct now, it already was in name alone.

The cart came to a sudden stop and Tom's head jolted forwards, a scowl crossing his face. Rubbing gingerly at his now almost strained neck, Tom hopped out of the cart, smoothly approaching the door. There was no key for this one, instead two snakes coiled around the door, promising to permit entrance only to those who asked. Straightening his back, Tom gave the skittish goblin a grin before he let his lips part and words form upon them.

"_Open for your Master._"

The snakes shuddered before twisting and twirling over one another, burrowing deep into the door to work the mechanisms. And then, a small voice came from beside him.

"You're their master?"

"What?"

Harry Potter was looking up at him with those big green eyes, still cuddling the extendible pouch of money to his chest. The dark green of the transfigured robe suited him, Tom was pleased to note.

However, most importantly, "What do you mean I'm their master?"

"You-you asked them to open for you, 'cause you're their master... Right?" The boy could speak Parseltongue.

That wasn't possible. That shouldn't, couldn't be happening. Wasn't their a law somewhere that said gifts such as Parseltongue was passed down through family lines? And it'd been a Potter that married into the Gaunt family two hundred years ago, so he couldn't possibly have gotten it through their closest connection.

"_You can understand what I'm saying?_" Just to be sure. Maybe it'd been a good guess on the boy's behalf.

"_Yeah,_" Harry murmured beneath his breath, suddenly once again shy and anxious. He was speaking in Parseltongue.

Tom's head whipped up to look at the goblin, his eyes narrowed.

"This information does not leave this tunnel, or all of our money will be out of these vaults before you can say galleon."

Scowl on face, the goblin begrudgingly nodded, sitting sorting through the paperwork that Tom had requested before visiting the vaults. Pushing the young Boy-Who-Lived from his mind for the moment, Tom stepped into the vault, letting his eyes dance over everything inside. There was gold, lots and lots of gold. Several trunks with multiple compartments, no doubt filled with all sorts of interesting things.

For a moment, he stood back, picturing how he'd planned on setting up his vault once he'd gotten enough money to open one. He'd have set the books up on the left hand side, which meant that the dark mahogany trunk that was sat off to a side would be bursting with all sorts of questionable reading material. He wanted to look through everything else, but for now, it was slightly more important that they stay under the radar. And there was a good chance some of the dark objects in here would become very obvious to their presence the second he entered Diagon Alley. And he could really do without being arrested right now.

Shrinking the trunk of books -he'd lifted the lid and been pleased to see he was right and that there were books inside- Tom pocketed the little luggage, turning back to Harry.

"We'll get you some robes first Harry, then we shall have a look around the alley."

"Okay."

.

Walking through the threshold of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Tom kept a sure hand on his young charges shoulder, having already informed the boy that he was currently wearing his favourite hat and not to take it off for any reason at all. He'd also charmed both moleskin pouches that they'd been given with an 'anti-theft' charm. He wouldn't want anyone to try their luck and end up getting seriously maimed because he wasn't in a very good mood. Hell, they'd probably get maimed even if he was in a good mood.

He'd also told Harry not to share the fact the fact the two of them could talk to snakes, because it was not something the magical world liked. Well, the vast majority. The dark pure-bloods would not doubt throw a party if the two of them appeared before them. Not something he was willing to risk when he little experiment, his little experiment that shouldn't be a Parselmouth, was unable to defend himself yet.

The robes shop wasn't quite as busy as the rest of the alley, no doubt because it was only last season's robes that were on sale. Most witches and wizards would prefer to get a good broom or potions ingredients with a discount instead of robes, which were usually quite cheap in comparison. Striding forwards, Tom gave a polite little cough to gathered the attention of whom he assumed to be Madam Malkin, a stout little witch with white hair and bright blue eyes. She spun on heel, abandoning the pattern book she'd been perusing in favour of taking both himself Harry in. She'd no doubt remembered him from the previous day when he'd visited for his own wardrobe, informing her he'd be back in two days with his little brother, who would no doubt need the same thing. He'd claimed a magical fire had taken their house several weeks ago, and that whilst his father was busy finding them new accommodation he'd thought it best to start rebuilding their wardrobe.

"Tom sweetie, it's a pleasure to see you again."

Tom took the old witches hand, already knowing the two of them would be getting the unofficial helpless child discount, but he might as well lay the charm on thick, just in case. Brushing his lips against the old woman's knuckles, Tom let her take her retrieve her hand, putting his own back on Harry's shoulder.

"Madam Malkin, my young brother, Harry White. He's a bit shy."

And true to form the young boy blushed furiously, shuffling nervously from foot to foot before he too copied Tom's actions with the woman. Malkin all but swooned, cooing at the younger boy before leading them over to the nearby clothing stand, no doubt determined to measure Harry up right away. The younger boy looked up to Tom, obviously asking if he'd done the right thing by copying his movements. The boy had come off a little timid, but that was the kind of thing that endeared young children to those older than them, so Tom offered he boy a reassuring smile. He'd mastered that smile at Hogwarts, mastered all the masks he could ever need to manipulate people. And it was becoming increasingly evident that he couldn't let Harry slip away, not when he appeared to have such a wonderful skill set. Reflecting Avada Kedavras, Parseltongue. He was almost excited to see what else the boy had going for him. He was certainly going to be a little asset once he was all trained up.

"Will it be a full wardrobe again?" By full wardrobe, Malkin meant the whole lot, robes and muggle clothing. Which, as much as Tom hated the latter, he'd need to fit in when they were on the move. A notice-me-not could only go so far after all. The tape measures began floating around Harry's body, flickering in and out as they took down his measurements and the little boy giggled slightly at the movements.

"He hasn't lost his wonder of magic then, has he?"

Tom hummed in agreement, scanning the shop for anything that could possibly pose as a threat. He only got so far before a stressed looking red-head witch came barrelling over to them, or rather, to Madam Malkin.

"Mary, your Hufflepuff robes are on offer but not your Gryffindor ones, do you have the patches so I could sew them on myself?"

Tom quickly began taking everything about the woman in. She was talking about the on sale robes, but needed a different type. Clearly she didn't have enough money for the other type if she was requesting a patch to make her own adjustments. Her clothing was worn, well used in a way that could only be produced for years of service. Couple that with the large gaggle of about seven children around her, and Tom had his conclusion. The woman had too many mouths to feed and not enough money to do so. Or rather, only just enough money, hence why she couldn't afford the normal robes. And there were a lot of children, the youngest looking near Harry's age, whilst the oldest appeared to be the same age as Tom. Said oldest was currently staring at Tom with confusion in his blue eyes.

"Sorry, I don't think I've seen you around school before, Bill Weasley." The boy offered his hand, which Tom took with the usual Pure-blood flourish.

"That will be because I've been home-schooled. Thomas White, and my younger brother Harry."

The gaggle of children looked between the two of them, from Tom's confident stance to Harry, who appeared to be fighting off the tape-measure that'd gotten a bit too enthusiastic now that Madam Malkin wasn't around to dictate its every move.

"You have the same name as Harry Potter!" The little girl, the only girl of the bunch, cried out, his big eyes wide with excitement.

Harry cringed, looking up at Tom from under the brim of his hat, which now had an artful burn to the side of the brim, adding evidence to their cover story. The boy's acting skills would need some work. Nevertheless, for the moment, Tom was good enough for the both of them.

"Actually, Harry Potter has the same name as my brother. Harry was born in May, two months before Harry Potter. Thus he had the name first."

Bill and the second oldest child nodded along, clearly following what he'd been saying, but the younger children looked confused. Tom was almost certain the two twin boys were experimenting with something, but he didn't want to look too much into it. Children were not his forte, he had enough on with Harry.

"Where are your parents?" The youngest boy asked in an almost accusing tone, his blue eyes narrowed as he looked at Harry, as if daring the dark haired boy to lie to him. Harry answered before Tom could stop him.

"Dead."

Of course, this was the exact point Madam Malkin returned to them, letting out a small gasp and covering her mouth in shock. Tom had to work quickly.

"I apologise for lying the last time I saw you Madam, I'm afraid our father passed away from the fumes three days ago. I got emancipated as quickly as possible, it's just myself and Harry now. I didn't want for you to take pity on the two of us; we're doing just fine."

The distressed house-wife who had spawned all seven of those ginger children began shouting at the youngest boy, and Tom was able to catch the last name. Weasley. This was the Weasley family, he'd make sure to remember them.

Harry was blushing now, pressing himself into Tom's side to hide from the gaggle of people that were now suddenly focused upon him. He didn't particularly want to, but it'd appear more brotherly to all those present, so Tom carefully picked Harry up and let him bury his face into the crook of his neck the second the younger boy got over the shock.

Madam Malkin seemed to have recovered now, for she held out a small bag, no doubt filled to it's extended brim with Harry's new clothes. Her price was lower than it should have been, and Tom let her claim Christmas discount instead of poor orphan discount. He wasn't going to argue, not that it'd be his problem on how much it cost, because it was all coming out of Harry's own money. The boy had more than enough to fund himself.

"You've got a very good big brother there little Harry."

Harry poked his head out slightly, almost hidden beneath the rim of his hat, but he nodded humbly.

"I know."

As they walked out the door, Tom may have flicked the ash and unicorn wand at the youngest male Weasley, and he may have hit him with his favourite curse, one he'd made up to use on the other Slytherins as a child but hadn't tested more than once. If the boy's eyeballs just so happened to pop out of his head and roll away, well, he deserved it.

.

"Where are we going now?"

He'd put Harry back down now that they were out of the store, pushing the light bag into the boy's arms. He'd informed the child that those were his clothes in that bag, and as such, they were his responsibility. He needed to get it through the boy's head early on that he was not going to cater to his every whim. If Harry wanted to do something, he needed to be independent about it.

"We are going to get you a wand. I can't teach you if you don't have one. Then I'm going to get a better one."

"A better one?" Harry twisted his head to a side, tilted in confusion as he looked at the handle of the wand poking out of Tom's all black robe pocket. Tom hummed, pulling out the wand in question and twisting it about in his fingers.

"This one doesn't like me too much," _Probably because I killed its previous owner_, "you'll understand when you get your own."

Harry nodded, the grip he had on Tom's hand a bit looser than what it'd been earlier in the morning. At least his confidence was growing, even if it was slowly. For a moment, Tom wondered what would have happened if he'd left the boy at his relatives. Would he had remained the door-mat for them to walk all over, or would he have taken after Tom himself, reached a breaking point and then begin to fight back with his magic.

Pushing open the door to the wand shop, Tom ducked inside, Harry following after him. As he had done almost fifty years ago, Ollivander slid towards them on the rolling stairs, his grey eyes alight with the joys of a new customer. But that died the second his gaze found Tom, who stared back with a raised brow. The grey haired man did nothing but stare, making Harry shift uncomfortably beside him, no doubt unsure of what to do.

"I'm sure customer confidentiality will be taken into account Ollivander?"

The old man hummed nervously, turning his eyes to Harry when Tom asked the boy be sorted out first. His own wand had taken a great deal of time to find, and Tom had no desire to make Harry sit through a wait. Or rather, to find out how well Harry could behave with that kind of waiting time presented before him.

So he was a little surprised when it took a good half an hour for Harry to find something. It wasn't until Ollivander returned, cradling a dust covered box with a thoughtful frown on his face that Tom straightened up in his chair, intrigued. A wand, perhaps no bigger than twelve inches, was presented before him. Harry took it within his grasp, and instantly silver and golden sparks began shooting from the tip, raining down on the shabby wooden floor.

Tom offered a dry clap for the boy, who looked delighted at the reaction he'd gotten from the wand, staring down at the thin piece of holly like he'd never seen anything more important in his life. He probably wouldn't.

"Curious..." Ollivander trailed off, letting out a little sigh as Harry turned his big green eyes upon him.

"The brother to that wand young master, was the on that gave Harry Potter his famous scar."

Harry turned big, terrified eyes upon Tom, and having not heard his own origins story, the boy no doubt didn't have a clue what Ollivander was talking about. Tom was very interested now. Parseltongue, brother wands? The connections were building up.

The reaction seemed to startle the wand maker too, who looked to Tom.

"You're here for another wand too, Mr Riddle?"

"If you'd be so kind."

* * *

Harry Potter was currently having the best day of his life. The sun was setting off in the west, even though it couldn't be past four o'clock in the afternoon. One of his hands was wrapped around the handles of his multitude of bags.

After the wand shop, Tom had taken him to a broom shop, because apparently witches and wizards flew about instead of sweeping the floor with them. He'd then pulled Harry to a book store, where he'd informed Harry he could buy any books that would fit in the basket he was presented with by the door. Because Harry had money. His parents, who'd been magic just like him, had left him a lot of money. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had lied. His parents weren't penniless bums that'd died in a car-crash. Because a wand had given him the scar on his forehead, and witches and wizards didn't travel in cars. They used broomsticks for that. Tom was going to teach him to fly when the weather got better.

Looking at the older boy from the corner of his eyes, Harry smiled slightly, blushing as he did so. It wasn't hard to pretend that Tom was his big brother. He was exactly like Harry would have wanted. He looked after Harry, made sure he had enough to eat -they'd stopped by a small eatery after getting their wands, Harry had never had so much food before- and he hadn't lied to Harry yet. He wouldn't leave either, because not only were they family, but they were the same.

Tom was magic like him. Even though the Dursley's were closer to him, even though it was his great, great, great, great aunt aunt that'd married into Tom's family, he liked Tom more. Tom who'd shown him this world of magic, who'd let him take money from his own bank account and spend it on whatever he liked. He'd listened to Tom earlier when the older boy had said he wanted him to be a good study. Harry was pretty sure he understood the meaning of that. The older boy wanted him to be smart, to put the effort in. Harry could read well enough, he was advanced for his age group. Or that's what his teacher had said anyway. It was mainly because Dudley hadn't thought to look in the library yet to bully him, and Harry had been happy to drown himself in the books that surrounded his little hidey-hole.

So he'd gotten lots of books, all about magic. He wanted to learn. He could already see that Tom was smart, really, really smart. And he wanted to be like the older boy, to make the older boy proud and show him he was right to take Harry away from the Dursleys. That he could be a good boy and work hard. So what if he'd put in a few children's books too. He doubted Tom would mind as long as he was reading and exercising his brain. If he was going to be a wizard, he needed to know about everything. The book-shop owner had given him a funny look at the amount of books that he'd been buying, jokingly asking if Harry was planning to start his own library. It wasn't a bad idea, Harry liked the school library, and when Tom had taken him to the trunk shop, he'd been overjoyed to find out that yes, they sold a trunk that had an extra compartment that could work as a library. He'd bought it, right away, and then Tom had banned him from spending anymore than five galleons after that, because otherwise he'd burn away all his savings at once. Harry remembered how Dudley would always spend his pocket money the second he got it, then beg for some more the next day.

Only, Harry didn't have a mum to top up the money in his vault like Dudley did. So he promised to be careful with his funds.

.

Now, they were walking up the stairs to Tom's apartment, which the old boy had explained they wouldn't be staying in long. They would be going out of the country soon.

Harry had never been away from England before, hadn't even been away from Surrey before yesterday. Aunt Petunia always left him with Mrs Figg if they were going anywhere fun. But now he had Tom, who would be taking him out of the country, and teaching him magic.

He was still struggling with the fact his Christmas wish had actually come true, that someone out there had heard him and sent Tom to him. To rescue him from the small cupboard from under the stairs. Harry had slept in a real bed last night, after he'd embarrassingly enough, fallen asleep when Tom had taken him away.

As they walked in, Tom turned to the little table by the bed, upon which to portions of turkey dinner sat. He sent several spells at the meals and Harry bit his tongue from asking what Tom was doing. He'd asked a lot of questions already today, and even though Tom was a lot nicer than Uncle Vernon and had answered them all, he didn't want to push his luck. Whatever he'd done, Tom seemed satisfied, snatching up a small note from the desk top.

"So, Borgin has a niece? That's nice to know." A niece? That's what Harry would have been to Aunt Petunia if he were a girl. He wondered if this Borgin was nicer to his niece than what his aunt had been to him.

"Eat up then Harry, then we'll have a talk."

Harry had never had three meals in a day before, but he was feeling rather hungry from all the walking he'd done today. He liked Diagon Alley. If Santa had a village, Diagon would be exactly what it looked like. The snow covered roofs, the funny, uneven stones that made up the street pathway. Although the goblins wouldn't make very friendly elves.

"Are elves real?" Harry asked before he could stop himself. After all, if dragons were real, then it was possible wasn't it? Harry had bought an encyclopedia of magical animals from the book-store, so that he'd know what was real and what was not.

Tom pulled a funny face, one that Harry didn't really know the meaning behind, before the older boy nodded, swallowing his mouthful of food.

"House elves are indeed very much real. They belong to the older families and clean their houses for them."

Oh, did that mean that he was a house elf? No, that couldn't be right. While the Dursleys had made him clean their house, they weren't an old family, and Tom himself had said Harry was a wizard. And Tom hadn't lied to him once yet. Maybe, maybe it would be okay if he asked about his scar.

Taking the hat off his head, Harry placed it on the pillow of the bed, tracing the lightning bolt with his forefinger, the other hand shovelling another bite of dinner into his mouth. It was so much better without glasses, he'd noticed too. He'd been able to see everything in the alley, and because he wasn't' wearing them, his glasses hadn't been knocked off his face either, leaving him almost blind.

"How-how did I get my scar Tom? Mr Ollivander said- he said it was a wand?"

Tom hummed slightly across from him, finishing off his dinner. Harry hadn't realized the boy had still been eating whilst Harry thought, but the younger boy was glad he'd not hurried his own meal. He'd done that this morning, and been uncomfortably full afterwards, almost to the point it was difficult to move.

"A few years ago, the wizarding world was at war. The light side against the dark side. Not good or evil, just two different groups of people with two different opinions of how the country should be run. The light side, they wanted the muggles to become aware of our world, to let them in even though they had no magic. But the dark side saw the muggles would only hurt us, so they wanted to keep them away."

Harry nodded, that made sense to him. He couldn't imagine what havoc the Dursleys would create in Diagon Alley, and if all the muggles came? That would probably be bad.

"Now your parents did something to upset the leader of the dark side, and he came after them. He killed both of them, and then, he tried to kill you. But the spell that has always killed it's target before didn't work, it bounced right off you and hit the dark wizard, killing him too. And that is where you got that scar, and that is why everyone knows who you are."

Harry sat back in his chair, feeling numb. He really didn't like that. He didn't think the muggles should be allowed into their world, not if they'd hurt it like the Dursleys had hurt him. But his parents had thought it was okay for them to come in. He was so confused, what was he suppose to believe in? Why had the dark wizard tried to kill him too? He'd only been a baby, he couldn't have been fighting in the war either. He'd seen some babies in Diagon Alley, and they weren't at all unlike normal babies. They seemed normal, not like the super-powered ones that Dudley watched on TV.

"You're not your parents Harry, you can form your own opinions. I myself don't think the muggles should know about us. But what you think is really up to you."

Harry nodded. Tom was really smart, and he was right about this. Harry needed to form his own opinion. He'd have to think a bit more on this, do research, like Tom had said before.

"Go get changed for bed."

.

Harry's head was still spinning as he climbed onto the soft mattress, digging himself a small nest in the thick duvet covers that came with the bed. This morning he'd been too tired to realize that there was only one bed. So where did Tom sleep? The older boy seemed to read his mind, because he let out a soft chuckle, rolling his dark eyes as he did so.

"You're too young to worry about what I'm up to Harry. Get some sleep."

Harry nodded, letting his head rest upon the soft pillow that came with the bed, his eyes feeling heavy. He had done a lot today though, so it was no wonder that he was tired. It was the most eventful day he'd had yet. He could still smell the dust from Ollivander's store, still feel the handle of his wand, which was currently resting on Tom's desk. The older boy was looking through the 'bank statements' he'd gotten from the goblins. Not that Harry had much of a clue as to what was said on them, only that it was important to the older boy. He'd told Harry not to worry about it, so Harry wouldn't. Tom was smart and good at magic, he'd be able to deal with anything.

He chewed on his lower lip for a moment before rolling over, facing the wall with his back to Tom.

"Goodnight Tom," he whispered as quietly as he could, wondering if the older boy would hear him.

There was a pregnant pause in the room before Tom gave a gentle sigh, responding with a soft, "goodnight Harry."

And Harry slept well for the first time in years.

* * *

**This is the longest chapter for a story that I have ever wrote. I hope that is apology enough for how long I took to update this. I loved this story idea when I came up with it, and wanted it to be one of my best stories. So every time I typed up a paragraph, I'd end up deleting it because I wasn't happy. But now I am, so I hope you like it too.**

**Tom is a manipulative little bitch. **

**Thanks for reading,**

**Tsume  
xxx**


	3. Part 1, Chapter 2

**The Counterfeit Cousin**

_x_

**_Part 1  
_Chapter 2**

Slowly opening his eyes, Tom Marvolo Riddle blinked three times, each as slow as the one before it. His head was somewhat fuzzy with sleep, but he could still recognise the wallpaper that was starting to annoy him only several feet from his face. He'd spent a good portion of the night reading through bank statements, looking at both his own and that of Harry's. He'd been somewhat startled to find out that the rumour that Charlus had an invisibility cloak was true, for it was listed as one of Harry's assets; an inherited invisibility cloak. Which couldn't be right, for he knew that the charms on the cloaks would fade with age. That meant the cloak in question was in no way ordinary. He'd almost been angry on Harry's behalf when he'd read that Dumbledore had taken the cloak in question from the vaults, not long after the death of Harry's parents.

It was listed as being retrieved from the vaults by Harry's magical guardian. Something which Tom was already in the process of fixing, having gotten a bit of Harry's blood to sign the papers required. He'd sent off the owl last night, carrying the papers that would make Tom his guardian in both worlds, claiming neglect in the muggle one as his reason to take guardianship, and theft -for Dumbledore certainly hadn't asked Harry if he could take the cloak- as his reason for taking magical guardianship. Speaking of Harry...

Tom tilted his head downwards, frowning as he did so. His transfigurations weren't strong enough yet to hold while he was unconscious -not without throwing around enough magic power to bring a Ministry official running- so he'd gotten several pillows and built a wall between both himself and Harry on the single bed, determined to actually get some sleep tonight. Harry had clearly disregarded the presence of the wall, not only wiggling through it, but curling up against Tom's chest, his face pressed into the older boy's neck and one hand clutching at Tom's shirt. It made the older boy cringe. He did not like having the boy so close, did not like the little flutters of breath that brushed against his collarbone as Harry breathed in and out in his sleep. However, the younger boy had reached out to him, even unconsciously. He felt comfortable enough in Tom's presence, had sought him out in his sleep. That at least, was a good sign.

He was a warm lump coiled up against Tom's side, something he'd have appreciated in a past winter before he'd learnt all about warming charms. For none of the other orphans would have liked to share body heat. Not that he'd let them close enough to do so. Now that he had a spell for keeping warm, one that would stick through the night, he had no need for the little space-heater that was Harry Potter. Now, should he slip out of the bed and act as if it never happened, or jolt the boy awake? He was rather skittish, so perhaps it would be best if he went for the first option.

Prying the boy's fingers from his top, Tom quickly substituted himself with a nearby pillow, watching Harry frown when the sleeping boy realized the pillow was not as solid or warm as his previous one. Scowling, Tom stood up, stretching his arms above his head and listening to the satisfying crack of his back. It was so nice to be out of that journal, he still hadn't gotten used to waking up and finding everything in front of him. Half the time he was still expecting a stretch of nothingness before his eyes. For a moment, he wondered if that expectation would ever leave him.

Turning on heel, Tom approached the bathroom, figuring a nice warm shower would be enough to rid himself of the feel Harry left from where he'd coiled up against his side. Yes, a shower would do just nicely, he needed to wash his hair anyway.

.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Tom paused as the sight before him, the hands that'd been rubbing a towel vigorously against his hair slowing to a stop.

Harry Potter was awake, knelt on the floor by the trunk he'd purchased yesterday and apparently, was sorting out his own library. Tom knew the boy had bought a good few books, but he'd not realized how many, hadn't had the chance to see just yet. The floor was covered in books, piled up around the boy as he placed them, one by one, in the library compartment of his trunk.

Letting the towel he'd previously been using drape around his shoulders, Tom strode over, plucking up a dark green button up shirt as he went. By the time he'd danced between the spaces the books left on the floor, taking note of the titles -theories of magic, the big book of creatures, charms for children- he'd managed to button up the shirt perfectly without needed to look at it once. Instead, he hung over Harry, watching as the boy organised his books, no doubt by what he felt was most important to read first, considering the first two books were on recent wizarding history.

"It's nice to see you're taking my earlier words so seriously."

Harry jumped when he started speaking, swirling around to look at him as Tom plucked the black outer-robes off the back of the desk chair, smirking at the younger boy who blushed nervously before him.

"I-I'm okay to sort this out, right?"

Tom hummed in agreement, brushing down the lapels of what as quickly becoming his favourite robe.

"Of course, I was actually going to suggest that you do a bit of reading this morning. I'll be gone for the next hour or two, but I will be back as quickly as possible."

Harry blinked up at him owlishly, chewing on his lip and rubbing his hands together. Nervous twitches.

Reaching out with one arm, Tom took a good grip of the boy's hands, stopping that one twitch whilst he curled the fingers of his free hand around Harry's jaw, gently tilting the boy's head up to look him in the eye.

"First, always look someone in the eye. It makes you seem confident and in control, even if you aren't. Second, don't play with your hands or bite your lip, it makes you look nervous."

"Is that what you do?" Harry asked with those big green eyes, instantly latching on to whatever knowledge that Tom was willing to part with. Dear lord, he was like that first year Hufflepuff that he'd helped out in the halls. He had to bring out this boy's Slytherin side. He knew it existed, he'd seen the evidence from the Uncle's memories.

"Yes. I'll teach you all about how to trick someone into thinking you're confident." _And then, I'll teach you to manipulate them_.

"Okay," Harry placed both hands in his lap, looking much more confident when he met his eyes, even if there was still a little embarrassed flush spreading across his cheeks.

"Good. The only person who can come up here is Borgin, so don't worry if he does. I'll be right back." Tom apperated, but not before he heard Harry's quiet good-bye.

.

Landing in a small alley off from the main street of Hogsmeade, Tom adjusted the cuffs of his green shirt before striding out with purpose. No one seemed to question you as long as you appeared as if you had a right to be there, that all was well with the world. It was one of the easiest ways to hide, one of the first things he'd picked up on whilst exploring Diagon Alley and it's counterparts. He'd watched the different people walking down Knockturn, from the nervous first timer to the regulars.

The first timers, usually Slytherins in their fifth or sixth year, would be nervous. The parents that they'd normally visit the alley with were not present with them, and it'd show in their body language. The slightest hunching of the shoulders, their eyes darting around everywhere because suddenly everything was a threat now that they didn't have mummy and daddy to back them up. It'd made Tom happy to watch them stumble about, whilst he'd glide through the alleyway on his lonesome, the first time being his second year. No one had questioned his presence there.

The regulars had subcategories.

There were the usually shady wizards, those who were into some backwards trading, selling off items they'd stolen or come into possession of through not so legal means. They'd have a serious face about them, they'd be striding forwards and looking over their shoulder only once or twice, for the law enforcements that rarely ventured into the alley.

Another lot were those of creature heritage. Be it a werewolf or perhaps a vampire father, those with connections or powers beyond the normal wizard would move dangerously, Would house the air of a predator among them. They would not look over their shoulder, because they believed themselves to be top dog of the street. Nothing could touch them, and they acted accordingly.

Finally, there were the Lords and Ladies, who would walk along like the owned the entire street, that were rich but powerful enough, with a strong enough magical aura to tell anyone interested that they were not to be played with.

Tom had witnessed all the different types of people that visited Knockturn, and he'd taken the best abilities on offer and sewn them together for his own mask. He took nothing from the nervous first timers, only referencing them when it came to what not to do. He took the serious face from the thieves, but instead of looking over his shoulder he'd glance in a reflective surface every so often, no need to make it obvious. He took the predatory movements from the ones linked to creatures, made himself the most dangerous thing in the alley. Something only amplified by his dark magical aura, which when unrestrained, was almost suffocating when focused upon a person. This was his mask, this was what he presented to Knockturn.

However, this wasn't the one he needed at the moment, now that he was in Hogsmeade. The mask he wore for the darker parts of the magical world was set aside, replaced by one he'd perfected through the halls of Hogwarts, through his time within Diagon and Hogsmeade.

It was that of a friendly, helpful wizard.

A bright intelligent young man. A sparkle in his eyes that he'd taken from the awestruck first years, the pleasant smile of a Hufflepuff perfect, the neatly presented clothes and hair of a Slytherin student. The air of intelligence from Ravenclaw, and the chivalrousness of a Gryffindor. He was the perfect example of what Hogwarts looked for in a student. He had purposeful strides, a determined look on his face, but he didn't appear closed off at all. It allowed him to pass through Hogsmeade, only gathering the admiration of teenaged girls out shopping. The best way to hide in these places was within plain sight. To let people remember him as the handsome young man that was passing through. People would believe a clean and well presented young man would never be up to no good, compared to the appearance of a scruffy rapscallion.

The perfect disguise.

That's why no one questioned him as he made his way to the front of Hogwarts, passing through the open gates as the castle magic welcomed him back. His older self may have graduated, but this body that he'd rebuilt was still a student, and as such, the castle registered him as such.

Swiftly making his way up the driveway, he took in the sight of his home, from the tall towers to the stretch of Black lake, resting finally upon the Forbidden Forest. This was where he belonged, this would be where he'd live come his victory. He'd own this school, make it his and erase all traces of Dumbledore from the stone walls. Both physically and metaphorically, should he choose to blow the old man to bits inside the grounds.

Mentally, he ran through a list of the current staff, which he'd produced for himself after a quick enquiry at the Ministry office. A little flirting with a fresh, out of school secretary had seen to that.

The most important, one Professor McGonagall, deputy head-mistress, present on grounds over Christmas break, widowed with two brothers. Transfigurations teacher, no doubt somewhere in Gryffindor territory. She wouldn't pose a problem.

Professor Sprout, Herbology teacher and no doubt tending to the greenhouses in light of the heavy snow. Also not a problem.

Professor Flitwick, a half-blood teacher, currently out of the country to play upon the duellers circuit. Good, he might have been a slight hiccup had he seen Tom, because for sure he'd have tried to hold him off, and Tom didn't want to leave bits of the half-goblin splattered across the floor.

And then, there was Professor Severus Snape. Tom almost wanted to run into him, just to give the man a scare. To let him know his master was back, and that he was most certainly not happy with his betrayal. Not unless the man knew he wasn't really gone, and had just been collecting information on Dumbledore. Then he'd probably be lumped with the same punishment that Malfoy got. Tom wasn't too sure yet, but he did look forwards to dealing them out. As soon as Harry was on side that was.

However, the man was a Slytherin and well known loner, he probably wouldn't surface from the dungeons, and that was not where Tom was heading at this moment in time.

He ached to go as see Salazar's basilisk, to release her upon the school again. But alas, he did not want Dumbledore to get the slightest whiff of his presence here, otherwise that could lead to the man realizing Harry's disappearance and his own reappearance were linked. And he needed to avoid that till there was no way the golden boy would leave.

He was a Parselmouth, and the boy would not be getting away from him.

.

Climbing the stairs, Tom nodded politely to a small gathering of female Slytherins perhaps a year younger than himself, who took one look and blushed at the sight of him. As with every Christmas break, they were dressed in their own clothes, though this was the first time Tom had been in possession of money to buy his own, thus not having to wear the uniform.

"I don't think I've seen you before," one of the girl's whispered coyly, fluttering her thick black lashes in his direction. Tom smiled back, even though he burned inside to put this girl in her place, to show her that he was not for flirting with, that he was well above her and could crush her without a thought.

"Mmm, I'm here for a meeting regarding my younger brother's education, I myself am home-schooled."

"Shame,"the blonde muttered, dark brown eyes trailing up his body again and Tom fought back the scowl.

"I'm afraid I must be going."

The girls nodded, turning their backs to him and Tom hit all three with a small memory charm, which would slowly dissolve the past ten minutes in their mind, in such a way they'd remember nothing about him come midday. He didn't need his presence or appearance getting back to his favourite head-master after all.

Smoothly making his way up the stairs, Tom stopped before the gargoyle that guarded the head-master's office. It was perhaps a long-shot to hope the cloak was here, but Tom really couldn't guess where else the old idiot would put it. Surely he'd wrongly believe that Hogwarts was safe from Tom and his forces.

Rolling his eyes, Tom tapped his fingers against his leg, sorting through the information he'd gleamed from the minds of the three young witches. Dumbledore used a password for his office that related to sweets, and with it being Christmas, perhaps-

"Candy-canes."

The gargoyle seemed to size him up for a moment before moving aside, presenting a stair-case that Tom was familiar with. It only felt like he'd been marched up there yesterday, presented with his award for framing that oaf Hagrid, told he'd done a great service to the school. Of course he had, he'd managed to rid it of a muggle-born. He'd unleashed his ancestor's beast upon the population, and would do so again, once the time was right.

.

If there was one thing Tom would be forever certain about in regards to Dumbledore, it would be the man's complete lack of sense.

The office was a mess, with all sorts of bits and pieces thrown about on every surface available, some even floating about when it was evident there was no room presently for them. Tom supposed it reflected the man's mind, the odd little thoughts represented by the gadgets, and, oh, was that a baby phoenix on that perch? No doubt a physical manifestation of the man's moral fibre; yes, this was exactly how Tom pictured the great Albus Dumbledore's brain. Luckily enough he'd caught the phoenix on a burning day, or just after, so it appeared. It was an ugly thing, big head and no feathers, nestled up in the ashes.

Smirking, Tom turned to Dumbledore's desk. This had been too easy. Far too easy.

He'd sent out several owls to the man, each one claiming to have seen a young Harry Potter out and about. Each one as radical as the one before it. One claimed him in the company of shady looking muggles, another claimed he'd spotted the boy with a Death Eater. Tom's personal favourite was that the boy was with Gellert Grindelwald of all people, and had been spotted in the airport, partway through being smuggled out of the country. Tom wished he could see the man's face when he got that letter.

So, whilst the old head-master was only on a wild goose chase, Tom was here, in the heart of his kingdom. A kingdom he'd one day claim as his own. But for now...

Pulling out his new, more compatible wand, Tom gave it a delicate flick. It was a small spell, one he'd created in his first year that'd see to it that stolen items would light up like a beacon. It was how he'd found half his things when the Slytherins had first made the mistake of trying to take them. It was the only time they'd made that mistake. One of the draws on Dumbledore's desk began glowing around the edges, a brilliant white coloured against the dark of the wood.

Striding over, Tom cast spells at the portraits in quick succession, freezing them within their frames and preventing them from speaking of his little visit to anyone. Oh, they'd be able to say they were frozen, but not by who, or how long he'd been here. Nor what he'd taken or done within the room.

"Tom," the mournful voice of head-master Dippet reached his ears and Tom looked up, already working a muggle lock-pick. He'd learnt that no matter how many spells were placed upon something to prevent forced magical entry, a muggle lock-pick would go a long way. The Slytherins were ever so horrified to find their things scattered around the common room, and had never found out how he'd done it. They went to such efforts to hide things, but Tom was still able to work his way in with such a simple trick. Of course, he himself had protection against the methods he used, but so far they'd never actually had to come into play.

At the click of the tumblers, Tom drew the draw back, running his fingers over the silky material that was present to him.

"Yes Professor?" Tom mused, smoothly straightening out to his feet and holding the flowing cloak in his hands. It was probably big enough for two adults to fit beneath it, so would easily cover both himself and Harry if need be. Now though, he needed to decide what to do with it.

Did he keep it to himself, for it would certainly come in handy and it was by far the most powerful cloak he'd ever held between his fingers. He'd found three invisibility cloaks in the room of requirement, but all had seen their charms fall apart. This one, this one felt brand new compared to them.

However, the problem would be if Harry ever found out he'd kept possession of his father's cloak from him, he'd be furious. The boy had nothing from his parents.

Frowning, Tom's brain rushed to come to a solution whilst the portrait of his old head-master seemed to gather himself together. Perhaps he'd give it to Harry and explain it'd been his father's, but ask to use it when needed. The boy would no doubt agree, simply because he looked up to Tom so much already. It'd pretty much be his, only Harry's in name, considering the boy would no doubt hand it over whenever Tom had need of it. And he'd be able to study it too, and recreate his own just like it. Or perhaps, a better version of it. After all, he was the strongest wizard that he knew of, whoever made the cloak couldn't possibly be better than him.

"What are you doing here Tom, last I heard, the Potter boy saw to your death."

Tom grinned, curling the cloak around his shoulders whilst his dark blue eyes scanned the walls, the trinkets of the room. His gaze fell on a blood tracker, a small silver pendent that would be able to locate anyone within seven days if a blood sample was provided. It wouldn't surprise him if Dumbledore had some of the boy's blood, and tracking them would not be allowed. It was exactly why he was oh so careful with his own blood. If that device got a chance to lock onto Harry, then it'd all be over.

Grabbing the offending item, Tom shrunk it down, pocketing it.

"What do you think I'm doing Professor? Of course I'm going to see just what is so special about this boy. After all, we're so alike. Both Parselmouths, both orphans failed by Dumbledore. After all, the old man is the one who placed him with abusive muggle relatives, driving him into my waiting arms. I should really thank him for that."

There was a collective intake of breath from most of the portraits, although some like Phineas Nigellus Black looked supremely smug.

"Tom, please-"

Tom cut the portrait of his old head-master off with a temporary silencing spell, drawing the hood of the cloak over his head. The spell would come down by the time of Dumbledore's return, but none of the portraits would be able to speak of his visit. Not for several hundred years at least. With another flick of his wand, Tom removed all the spells upon the cloak, the tracking charm and locator charm that would alert Dumbledore to the presence of those beneath the cloak when it was being used. They were spells filled with great power, but obviously that was the only way to get them to stick to such a powerful object, which was still trying to throw them off. So, the cloak repelled all forms of tracking spells then, that was interest. It didn't like spells sticking to it's fluid-like surface, that much was obvious.

.

Prowling down the corridors beneath such a effective invisibility cloak, Tom had never felt more powerful. He was a threat, hidden away and ready to strike at any moment. He could massacre all these students right now, and no one would be able to stop him. He could paint the walls red with blood, line the corridors with bodies and nothing Dumbledore did could prevent that. Addicting power rushed through his veins, leaving him somewhat light-headed as he made his way along the halls, wand curled up in the delicate grasp of his left hand. The wood was smooth, too smooth compared to his old wand. But he would make do, it would have to. Until he found out what had happened to his old wand, which he'd deep down, been hoping was also in the possession of Albus Dumbledore. Simply so he could steal it back today.

However, it seemed someone else had made off with it.

Someone who was in this very castle.

He could feel it, calling out to him as a mermaid did to a sailor. It wasn't in Dumbledore's possession, but it was within the school. He had to have it, had to know where that call was coming from.

Making his way up the corridors, he let his feet lead him towards Gryffindor tower, somewhat curious as to how his wand had ended up present within the school.

Luckily enough, a student was just returning the common room from breakfast, allowing Tom to slip in behind him, breezing past and following the call of his wand. He'd never had the pleasure of being in the lion's common room before, something he was thankful for. The garnish red and gold colour scheme was more of an eyesore than the wall-paper back in Borgin's flat, bright and bold. As far as possible from the subtle green and silver that the Slytherins prided themselves on. Their common room certainly had a lot more class than this one did, not that it was hard to achieve that particular feat. He was lead up the stairs to one of the boys dormitories, he'd heard tales of how the staircase to the girl's dorm reacted to a male presence. Not that Tom couldn't overcome that kind of spell-work if it was needed.

In Slytherin, you were expected to protect your own dorm, a combined effort until you reached fifth year, in which everyone got their own room. Tom's had been the most heavily warded, as if that'd been a surprise. They'd learnt it was pretty much a death sentence to try entering his room when Lestrange had first attempted it, and had ended up in the hospital wing poisoned for his efforts. A neat little spell he'd found in the restricted section had seen to that.

Pushing open the door to the dorms, Tom's eyes focused upon a rather large, fat rat, which was nestled upon a pillow. An Animagus, it had to be. His wand's energy was a brilliant lantern in this empty room.

Slowly closing the door, Tom hit the wood with his most powerful locking charm, wand then pointing at the rat before he forced it back into human form. The change was obvious, the rat growing in size, limbs distorting and wild eyes changing from a rat to a humans. For good measure, he locked the windows too, staring down at the wizard that was presented before him. He knew the face, Peter Pettigrew, a man who'd tried valiantly to stop his best friend Sirius Black after the man had betrayed the Potter's location to Voldemort. He was suppose to be dead, bits and pieces of a wizard with nothing more than a finger left. Clearly there was more to this story than what had been reported.

With little to no warning, Tom dived into the weak willed wizard's mind, ripping through in order to find answers for the question he had. So this was the man who'd betrayed the Potters, Sirius Black was actually innocent. He'd hidden, fearing for his life. The Death Eaters would want him dead, knowing full well that Pettigrew had pointed their master as the Potter boy, who'd seen to his downfall. And he'd had to fake his death to avoid it at the hands of a furious Sirius Black, whom he'd skilfully framed. How excellent. The rat had hidden with a wizarding family, safe as can be. Well, not now. The man would make a perfect spy for him, and it was time for him to know it. But first-

"My wand Pettigrew."

The man's watery eyes looked up at him, wide and tearful. No doubt his own orbs were flashing red now, leaving no guesses as to who he was. The wizard whimpered, still curled up on the floor from the savagery of his mental attack. However, shaky fingers, one evidently missing from the full set, reached into the pocket of the worn jacket, a jacket several years out of date.

And there it was, his precious wand, perfect intact and whole. It lit of the room in a shower of sparks upon being reunited, Tom instantly pocketing his other wand as Pettigrew continued to snivel at his feet.

The rat whimpered once again, bowing and pleading for mercy from his master. He was so obvious, so weak that it made Tom's chest burn with the need to destroy. He'd been a spy for him, a spy against the Order of the phoenix in the last war. Most importantly, he knew that Voldemort had gone after his ex-friends and their child for the sake of a prophecy, but was clueless as to what it said. Though he did know that his master had only known half of it. And doubtlessly, this was what had lead to his current state, in which he was a roaming spirit if his calculations about Horcruxes were correct.

How pitiful.

He'd look into the prophecy at a later date.

"Listen clearly Pettigrew. You are going to remember everything you can about Dumbledore, you are going to be my spy here at Hogwarts. But you are not to mention the fact I was here this day to anyone. Not even myself. You will only ever talk about this day if I ask it of you, do you understand?" He could not have this worm reporting to his older self that a young Tom Riddle was running around, wild, free and armed with his wand.

He was not going back into another diary.

He was going to remain free, and to do that, he had to train, get good enough to hold his own against himself, so he could never be forced into anything.

A small spell took care of the fact that Pettigrew could give up this information under the attack of a Legilimens, and he highly doubted a truth potion would be used on the rat. It'd take too much time and effort which was not worth it on this spineless being. Even if he'd managed to get lucky and throw a true member of the Order of the Phoenix into Azkaban.

Forcibly transforming the rat back, something that came much easier with his own wand, Tom smirked to himself.

As a precaution, he removed all knowledge that Pettigrew possess of his wand, letting the rat think he'd never seen it since it was last firing a Cruciatus curse in his direction.

It felt so good to have his own wand back, to hold it within his fingers and feel the of the yew beneath his fingertips. The wand had changed a bit since he'd last seen it, looking more like a bone near the handle, no doubt to reflect his own change in regards to his magic and it's gradual darkening. It still felt warm though, still welcomed him like only his wand could, and though Harry's felt both perfect and imperfect at the same time, it could never beat the one he held, not in his opinion. He was both rejected and welcomed by Harry's holly wand. But this one, his yew wand, was an extension of his self. And it would never leave him again.

Now, he just had one last thing to attend to.

.

Pushing open the back-door to Borgin and Burkes, Tom Riddle pulled the hood of the cloak down, taking in the sight before him. He knew that Borgin lived in the back of the shop, and would remain there until opening time at ten o'clock. Being the only person in the business of such obvious dark arts had it's advantages, mainly being that one could open the shop when one was ready.

As it was, right now the man was sat up to the kitchen table, eating breakfast whilst his house-elf worked the stove, frying up a new packet of bacon, no doubt destined for it's master's plate once finished. What did surprise Tom somewhat was the young boy sat up to table, already waiting for him and eating breakfast alongside the man. Bright green eyes snapped up to look at him and Harry gave a brilliant smile, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck.

He was wearing a shy blush, but managed to look Tom in the eyes as he spoke, "is it okay for me to eat breakfast with Mr Borgin?" Tom nodded mutely, folding up the cloak and letting it slip into the moleskin pouch upon his hip.

"Borgin, I have the twin of that vanishing cabinet for you to fix."

Hadn't that been another surprise. Borgin had the twin to the broken vanishing cabinet that had sat in Hogwart's room of requirement for so many years. He'd bought it from the Lord Parkinson, who'd gotten fed up at having a cabinet but nowhere to vanish to, as it's twin was both missing and broken. However, Tom had seen it somewhere before, that somewhere being Hogwarts itself. And he'd remembered.

Thank Merlin he had, for once it's twin was fixed, he'd have a free pass into the heart of Hogwarts, having replaced the broken one with it's working twin. Borgin's eyes went a little wide before he nodded wordlessly. The man knew what he'd grown up to become, and though he was evidently confused at his young appearance, that didn't lessen the fear that no doubt sat heavy in the man's stomach.

"Will you be joining us for breakfast Tom?"

"I shall."

Harry, who'd all but disappeared into a recent history book he'd been reading up to the table, looked up again, apprehension on his face. Whatever was bothering him, whatever thoughts that were clashing in his head seemed to come to an agreement, because his expression melted into one of hesitant curiosity.

"Where were you Tom?" Well, now was a good a time as any he guessed.

Pulling the cloak from his moleskin pouch, Tom presented it to the younger boy, watching as awe filled his face, fingers reaching out to dance across the watery fabric.

"That was your father's. I recovered it from the man who took it from your vaults."

Harry's eyes snapped up from the cloak to him, anger swirling deep within the depths of those emerald pools.

"So-Someone stole from me?"

"Yes. Albus Dumbledore."

Borgin spluttered on his orange juice, but Harry's face hardened. Perfect, just one step in ripping apart the old man in Harry's eyes. He couldn't wait till the boy realized that it was him who left the younger Parselmouth on the doorstep of those muggles. Who'd proclaimed him safe and loved there.

But he'd wait.

It'd be so much better to let Harry uncover Dumbledore's mistakes himself, for the Potter boy to rip apart the seems of Dumbledore's public persona. He was looking forwards to it.

However, now was time to play the perfect big brother again.

"Did you get your library sorted Harry?"

"Yep, it's all put away and I even ordered it! But I'm struggling with some of the big words..." The boy trailed off, looking up at him from under thick eyelashes, obviously nervous about how Tom perceived his current levels on intelligence. Harry clearly wanted to impress him, to prove he was worth the time and effort that Tom was willing to put into him.

"We'll get you a wizarding dictionary from the book store before we leave, that will certainly help you out."

Harry beamed, physically beamed at him, big smile with lots of white teeth. One of which was missing.

"What happened to your tooth Harry?"

"Mr Borgin said it's normal for baby teeth to fall out, that I'm growing up. I..." He shuffled nervously, cheeks flaring red as he turned his eyes to the table and ran his hands across the invisibility cloak, "I tripped and hit my mouth on the sink getting out the shower." Ah.

Tom himself had aged gracefully, even losing his teeth in a sensible fashion. They'd just come out when he had been brushing his teeth in the morning or on a night, he'd not lost one in an embarrassing way. Harry, it appeared, was going to be the opposite of him. Tom wasn't sure whether it'd be entertaining or frustrating.

"Tom, I'd like to speak with you before you go." Borgin finally murmured, getting to his feet and making his way into the shop without waiting for an answer. Tom let him go, turning to Harry and taking in the boy's finished plate of breakfast.

"Shall we get going then?"

.

The two of them were packed up now, both their trunks shrunken down and pocketed by the older boy. Now, with Harry once again clinging to Tom's sleeve for comfort, the boy's were entering Borgin and Burkes through the side door, Tom's dark eyes scanning the mass of treasures. Nothing new had come in the previous day, which was a shame. And quite a few things had caught his eye, but nothing he could really use in the next ten years, especially with Harry following his every move. It was only a matter of time before he developed that curious 'I must touch everything' trait that seemed hard-wired into every child ever born.

Like always, Tom had passed through that stage a little differently to other children. Whereas all the other orphans had wanted to feel the soft fur of a cat or the smooth wood of a toy, Tom had reached for the knives and other sharp, pointy and dangerous -to the other children of course- objects. That and to feel the skin peel back under the pressure of a knife. It'd been a shame that it'd only been rabbit skin he could experiment with at the time, but he'd long since grown out of that stage.

Manipulation was his favourite game now.

And Harry, raising the boy into one of his own, to be loyal to him and him only, was the greatest challenge he'd taken on yet. It promised to be a learning experience at the very least.

Approaching the counter, Tom clocked a blond haired man and his own young charge, no doubt a son from their facial features, along with the wife and mother. Lord and Lady, clearly from their posture and appearance. It was a shame Borgin would instantly refer to him instead of the trio he was currently speaking to. No doubt they'd be expecting to be put above Tom's needs, for he wasn't exactly dressed like royalty. His clothing was good, but he saw no point in paying over the odds for expensive material that would surely get ripped and torn at their next destination.

"You wanted to speak to me Borgin?" He asked, a tone which said he wouldn't be waiting around long for the man to get his words out.

As expected, Borgin excused himself from talking with the blond, a Malfoy, to Tom's great pleasure. So, this was the man who renounced him? Clearly he was doing well for himself, Tom bet the Malfoy Lord was probably quite pleased with himself. Not right at this moment of course, he was being pushed aside after all, but in general.

"I just wanted to know Tom, what are your plans for," Borgin shot the Malfoys a look, clearly very well aware that they were listening in, for he swallowed nervously, "your brother."

Tom rocked back on his heels, placing a hand upon Harry's shoulder when the young Malfoy dared to glare at him. Harry was a Parselmouth, which instantly put him above that brat standing in the same room as them.

"I plan to find out why that curse was reflected, why he was targeted, and of course to see if I can persuade him to see the light, so to speak." In other words, to turn Harry over this ideals, to twist him to his way of thinking.

Borgin lowered his voice even more, leaning in so the Malfoys' couldn't couldn't possibly hear his next words.

"And the war, will you be restarting it?"

"Not for a good many years, I have to train my young charge up after all," Tom mused, ruffling Harry's hair and smirking as the boy all but glowed at the words he'd just spoken. "Nor do I plan on seeking out your previous employee, only working with him should he see the need to start the ball rolling early."

"Mr Borgin," the sleek voice of the Malfoy Lord cut in at the end of Tom's sentence, no doubt irritating at being ignored for so long. Of course the man was used to people jumping through hoops for him, not having to preform himself for someone else. Tom had subconsciously clocked the young Malfoy complaining about being ignored, to which he responded with a sneer in the man's direction.

"I think we shall take our leave now," Tom mused, holding out the shrunken vanishing cabinet he had Borgin working to fix. The older man accepted it with a graceful nod of his head, no doubt relieved to have the two of them leaving.

The Malfoy Lord looked smug, whilst his wife and son were all but looking down their noses at the two of them. No doubt believing that they'd won.

But no, Tom wanted to scare them, to make them see they were not safe, that he knew they were traitors and that they'd get what was coming to them.

"_Come along Harry,_" he hissed, still looking into the steely grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy. The woman let out a loud gasp, whilst the boy, clearly clueless as to what was going on, turning to his mother in surprise.

But the shock and fear was evident on Malfoy's face, even more so when Harry responded with a soft, "_Yes Tom_," in the serpent tongue, holding onto Tom's hand with his own, no doubt scaring the living daylights out of Lady Malfoy.

Tom didn't offer them another glance, instead smoothly walking out of the shop, although he kept his strides small so that Harry didn't make a fool of himself running to keep up.

"Where are we going Tom?" The boy was once again wearing a hat, fixed in place with a sensible use of the sticking charm, hiding the lightning bolt scar from view.

"We are going to a forest in Albania. I received some information from a ghost and believe there may be something of interest there. Consider it an adventure."

"Like in the story books?"

Gazing down at the young boy beside him, Tom did his best not to marvel. While Harry was certainly not escaped the Dursley's undamaged, he was surprisingly childlike. Probably because he had his cousin and other school-children to base his behaviour off of. Sure the boy was shy and timid and hesitant in ways that could only come from living in the presence of such awful muggles, but the boy had managed to keep a hold of as much childish innocence as he could. Surprising, but that only said good things about the boy's mind, so who was Tom to complain?

"I suppose it could be like the storybooks, but I highly doubt we'll be fighting evil any-time soon. You need to be trained first."

Harry let out a little giggle and Tom offered up an amused smile. Children were so easy to manipulate.

"But first, we'll be stopping by the goblins again. There's something we must discuss with them."

.

He knew of course, that he couldn't remain on the run, not with Harry the age he was now. And it currently wasn't safe in Britain for them, not with Dumbledore pretty much at the helm of both Hogwarts and the Ministry. So he was going to make it safe.

The Gaunts had been in possession of a large, a very large plot of land almost in the centre of Winterfold Forest, funnily enough located in Surrey. It was riddled with muggle-repellent charms, making it the perfect place to build their new lodgings. The Gaunts had never been able to sell it, for the place was tied to their bloodline. Only someone of Gaunt blood could enter the lands, or someone invited by one of the Gaunt bloodline. The only way to remove the magic was for the entire family to die off.

Luckily enough, Tom just so happened to be a Gaunt on his mother's side, with enough blood to use the land. He had been discussing with the goblins who was best to build what he had in mind, and had come to an agreement that they'd send for builders the second he handed over the blueprints. He'd have to create them whilst in Albania, but once done, they'd have a safe house in Britain where they could train, and nothing would be able to get to them without his express invitation. Aside from his older self, whom he had no intention of merging with. Working alongside, perhaps, but never merging. The spirit could get it's own body, he was quite happy as he was.

Stepping out of the goblin bank, Tom ran a hand through his neat waves before holding out a single galleon, which the goblins had happily charmed into an international Portkey.

"Hold the galleon tightly Harry."

The boy nodded, small fingers curling around half the coin whilst Tom held onto the other.

There was a jerk within his naval, and just like that the duo left England behind.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was not stressed. He had passed that point long ago, leaving behind both stress and panic as he ventured into the more extreme feelings offered up on the same scale that housed both emotions.

He'd been enjoying the usual Hogwarts holiday feast on Christmas day, entertaining the few students who had been unable to go home, or simply chose to stay put at the castle. He'd even worn his favourite Christmas robes, the one's upon which gingerbread-men danced across the hem, snow falling around the joyous figures. And that was when all the alarms in his office had began singing in unison, sending the aged head-master into a panic.

With speed no doubt surprising of a man his age, Dumbledore had leapt to his feet and been out the door before his staff had even known what was going on. He'd made it to his office, only to find his worst nightmares to be real.

The blood wards at number four Private Drive had fallen, and Harry Potter was no longer where he was suppose to be.

Dumbledore had torn through the wards as only he as head-master could, apperating right onto the door-step of one Petunia Dursley. He'd pushed open the unlocked door, startled to find the uncle of Harry Potter laid across the floor as if he'd lost the bones within his legs. It was only after a quick inspection that he'd found that was exactly the case; the man had been hit by a powerful stunner, evident from the fact his face was still purple with rage over something his attacker had clearly done, and the bones within his legs were all gone.

A quick magical search of the house brought back no signs that a wizard lived within the walls at that moment in time, but Dumbledore had been only marginally relieved to find that both Petunia Dursley and her son were unaware of what had just occurred, and both were fine. The woman had shrieked something awful when she'd found out what had happened to her husband, and Dumbledore had been forced to take the family up to Hogwarts, both to heal the man and find out just what had happened. However, his worst fears were soon realized.

A wizard had found the location of Harry Potter. They had removed the muggle's memory of what had occurred, the only thing the man remembered was muttering a threat about Christmas carollers. It was completely blank after that. A strong memory charm, but done without too much care in regards to the muggle's mind. So, it was a witch or wizard who cared little for those not graced with magic.

Dumbledore would somewhat admit that after reading the man's mind and finding out exactly how Harry Potter, their saviour, had been treated, he wasn't in a rush to extend his full aid to the small family. The news only got worse from that day.

The tracking charms on Harry were no longer working, then just an hour ago he'd been notified he'd lost magical guardianship of Harry Potter for theft against his person. He hadn't stolen the cloak, only intending to borrow it and then pass it on to the young Potter boy after he'd done a bit of a study on it. He would never have known that his possession of it wasn't entirely legal, but the boy would have been so happy to have something of his father's he'd never have questioned it.

Now that plan was shot, for not only had he lost guardianship of Harry, while he'd been fruitlessly following all those ridiculous leads on the boy's current location, the cloak had been stolen right from underneath his nose. Along with the blood tracker he'd already set up to look for the boy.

He had a rather large problem, for he had lost the Boy-Who-Lived, the boy he'd promised was safe. No one could find out, not until he had the boy back. But that was significantly harder when the goblins were refusing to tell him exactly who Harry's new guardian was. Apparently, they'd been paid a pretty penny to keep that knowledge to themselves, and obviously had been told of what the boy had suffered through due to Dumbledore's placement, if their nastier than usual sneers were anything to go by.

Whoever had stolen the cloak had frozen the portraits too, for they had seen what had happened but could not tell him anything. And no matter how hard he tried, he could not undo the spell-work that'd been cast on them. It was something dark, that much was obvious, and he was close to tearing his hair out at the thought of young Harry being exposed to that kind of magic at such a young age.

He'd badgered all the professors currently present within the castle, all the students, to see if they could remember anything at all. And whilst a group of Slytherin girl's in their fifth year had a ten minute blank spot in their memory, this didn't help Dumbledore at all. None of the paintings were any help, clearly the thief had come disguised as a student for they all reported that they had seen no adult intruder. Only teenagers, all day.

If only Fawks had not been on his burning day, this would not be a problem. All of this was creating a large crisis in the eyes of Albus Dumbledore.

Which was why he had no time to deal with Molly Weasley.

.

The red headed woman had come flying into Hogwarts yesterday, screeching about her youngest son and a problem they'd had a Diagon Alley. She'd pushed the boy through the floo in the head-masters office, citing that it was an emergency. In her desperation, she'd clearly forgotten all about St Mungo's.

At the time, Dumbledore had been quick to help once he found out the problem.

In a glass jar were two eyeballs, which had been cursed out of young Ronald Weasley's head. The poor boy would obviously have been in tears had ducts capable of producing them actually been working, something they weren't able of doing without an eyeball present. He'd seen that curse before, and was rather upset to see that someone had clearly gotten their hands on one of Tom Riddle's old textbooks. That had been one of the boy's favourite curses.

Of course, none of the other professors had believed the boy capable of such an awful curse, which not only saw to it that the victims eyes would pop out of their skull after disconnecting from the optical nerve -which would hang down from the empty eye sockets against the cheekbones- but that the eyeballs themselves would roll away from the victim. It would be up to someone else to help.

Young Avery had been without eyes for two days before a house-elf had found them hidden beneath a bookcase in the first year girls dorm in Slytherin house.

It was a foul curse, but thankful, Dumbledore had worked out how to fix the after-effects.

Now the youngest Weasley was recovering in the hospital wing, tucked up neatly inside a hospital bed and his parents had been at his bedside the entire time.

Until right now it seemed.

"Dumbledore, I want that boy reported! He said he turned down the Hogwarts invitation, so surely you have his name wrote down somewhere. He was about fifteen, maybe sixteen! He hurt my Ron! That curse was certainly dark!"

Dumbledore nodded his head, for he knew that last piece of information for certain. It was a dark curse, not just a mild one either. It was all about getting the victim to suffer. And though the youngest Weasley had clearly upset the teen's younger brother if Molly Weasley's story was to be believed, using that curse was certainly taking things too far. However, there was something else in what Molly had just said that caught his attention.

"Molly, not one student had refused an invitation to Hogwarts in the past fifty years, not to be home-schooled anyway."

The woman opposite his desk frowned angrily, shaking her head of ginger hair as she did so.

"He was certainly English Dumbledore, he had an accent and everything. He can not go to Drumstrang or Beauxbatons that's for certain! He said he and his younger brother were orphaned recently! A magical fire!"

Now Dumbledore really did frown.

The only magical fire recently had been the one which had taken the life of Daniel Spence, which had been caused by some serious dark magic. And Spencer had not had any children, being a single man in his early thirties.

"Molly, there has not been a magical fire of that description, I fear this boy has lied to you, although if you ask at the Ministry's 'Magical People's Registration' you may have more luck. I'm afraid I've got a slightly more pressing matter to deal with of my own."

Molly Weasley scowled, but nodded her head, leaving through the door with a low sigh as she went.

Running a hand through his hair, Dumbledore once again let out a low sigh, turning to his familiar with a frown on his face.

"I have a large problem Fawks, I'm afraid I may need you assistance my friend, as soon as you are once again old enough to fly."

The trill his friend produced calmed Dumbledore somewhat as he turned back to his trinkets, still upset over the lose of the blood tracker. That had been the last of Harry's blood that he had too.

How had everything gone so wrong?

* * *

**I'm going to try and keep this story's chapters somewhere in the range of 9,000 to 10,000 words, simply because I don't update enough. I cracked all of this out today, so please excuse any spelling and grammar errors, you may find.**

**Queries;  
\- I got questioned regarding the future pairings, and if this would be a TomxHarry. To answer that, I have no clue whatsoever. It depends upon how Harry develops throughout the chapters as to who I eventually pair him off with. I only have solid plans for the next two chapters, so basically, only Part 1 is what I'm sure of, in which Harry is six. So pairings aren't really on my mind at the moment. It maybe come to a TomxHarry, or it may end up with them as brother/best friends -as 'best friends' as Tom Riddle can get anyway- with Harry eventually getting with a girl. I'm not sure.**

**\- Another thing asked was Tom becoming light. I can promise that is not going to happen. He'll soften a bit to Harry, but that'll be it. This is going to be a Harry joins the dark side fic, so don't worry about Tom going light. I can't see him being pulled over to the light no matter how big and beautiful Harry can make his puppy eyes.**

**\- As for Harry's eyesight; I've always wondered why all the other pure-bloods didn't have glasses; the way I see it, there's a potion to fix eyesight, but it has to be taken at a young age and is considered dark by the Ministry, because it adjusts a person. That's just my view though.**

**\- On the topic of time-skips, yes there will be time-skips between 'Parts', this isn't going to drag you through all of Harry's childhood with Tom, just the important parts. **

**Also, I try my very hardest to avoid bashing, so this story won't be a bash fic.**

**.**

**I feel I should inform you all that I'm going holidaying -to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter!- in exactly a month's time for two weeks; though I hope to get another chapter of this up before I do leave.**

**Thanks for ever so much for reading, I hope you liked it enough to review,**

**Tsume  
xxx**


	4. Part 1, Chapter 3

**The Counterfeit Cousin**

_x_

**_Part 1  
_Chapter 3**

"Lucius, those boys..." Narcissa Malfoy trailed off, pulling the hood of her robes tighter around her face as snow fell form the sky.

The Malfoy family, at this current point in time, stood at a grand total of four members. Her mother-in-law, one Marigold Malfoy, had passed away two years prior, and Narcissa had been exceedingly sad to see the woman go, she'd been infinitely fond of the woman who'd doted upon Draco just as much as she had. It had been a year since her father-in-law had passed down the title of Lord Malfoy to his son, a year of Lucius running back and forth between the Ministry and their manor, constantly trying to get Minister Bagnold on side, to work his way back into the good graces of the public. The first year the mistrust had been there, but as time went on more people became more sympathetic towards the poor men forced into fighting for something they didn't believe in.

Narcissa had forced herself not to snort, not to roll her eyes and sneer at those that approached them. No, it was more the fact they'd gotten their heads pulled out from the sand where they'd been doing their best to ignore the war and suddenly remembered that Death Eater or not, Malfoys had money. So it was no shock that those whom began defending her husband and those like him came with empty pockets. The fact that the Ministry were short on funds after a war, well, that worked out for the best, didn't it?

Now they could walk through Diagon without the disgusted stares, just the slight suspicion now. Life moved on.

Or, that was what Narcissa had thought. That was before her husband had insisted upon bringing Draco along with him to collect his latest order from Borgin and Burkes. She was not pleased with the idea, not at all.

Oh, she loved her husband dearly. Before becoming Mrs Malfoy, she'd had multiple betrothal contracts offered up to her; while Bella was the dark and wild vixen, she'd been the one regarded as the classic pure-blood beauty. Icy, in every sense of the word. When the light caught her, she glowed, but she was as cold as the substance they compared her to.

But Lucius, Lucius had wormed his way into her affections throughout Hogwarts, no doubt simply because she was a Black at first. But then they'd grown to care for each other, come to know real love. It wasn't all sunshine and buttercups, but as a dark witch, she'd never truly expected that. Instead, it was give and take, it was compromise. And that was what she had done when Lucius announced his plans to introduce Draco to the underbelly of the wizarding world. She'd demanded to join them. Lucius had bent his neck to her demand, because he knew little would come between her and the precious joy that was her son. She would never allow anything to harm him, had never let him or Bellatrix near the boy when they'd just returned form a raid, still high off of the blood-lust that trailed in the wake of a Death-Eater attack. So Lucius knew there'd have been no way to avoid her accompanying him.

.

They had smoothly made their way to Borgin and Burkes, started talking to the owner himself. Everything had been going smoothly, and then they'd appeared.

Two boys walking out from the back-room as if they owned the whole shop, like they were the best thing to ever step foot upon the dusty floorboards. They looked related, with the same dark shade of hair, the same cupids bow to their upper-lips. The older boy was more refined, that much was obvious. He also didn't look old enough to be out of Hogwarts. He carried himself like a Pure-blood heir, but she'd have heard of him by now if that were the case. She didn't recognise any of his features, nor did she know the boy that stood a little behind him.

Borgin, who was sweating slightly, running his grubby fat fingers against one another as he spoke to her husband, seemed to pause slightly, almost as if sensing the new presence that had appeared within his store. And then the boy spoke.

She'd not heard a voice like it before. Sure the vocal cords were rich, smooth like the chocolate her husband imported specifically for Yule feasts, but it was the tone, the implications behind it. Few could carry it, but anyone could read between the lines with a bit of practice. The teenager had all but implied he wouldn't be sticking around for long, and that he expected Borgin to leap through the hoops he was presenting.

It had been easy to keep her face cool of all emotion, to internally sneer at the audacity of the boy.

It became significantly harder to keep that mask when Borgin not only jumped through the hoops, but preformed a little twirl as he did so.

Even Lucius seemed spectacularly confused when Borgin all but dropped them, like a seeker after the snitch. They'd been deemed of lesser importance, and Narcissa simply couldn't understand why. Especially when Borgin addressed the boy as 'Tom'. What a horrendously common name. Nothing about the boy suggested he was a Tom. His features were that of an old family, his posture rigid but with just the right amount of predator, like he believed himself the most dangerous thing in the room.

She could tell exactly when Lucius had picked up on the same thing, for her husband responded, becoming slightly more aggressive in his own stance, probably as flabbergasted as she at the sheer nerve of the boy before them. When Borgin asked for the boy's plans regarding his younger brother -and she certainly picked up on the hesitancy within the address he used- Narcissa let her eyes float down to the boy.

He was thin, unfortunately so. With big green eyes that peaked out from beneath the brim of the hat upon his head. When 'Tom's' hand came down on the younger brother's shoulder, she felt a prickle of motherly instinct. She knew that the older boy was suddenly focused upon her son, even if it appeared he was completely focused upon the conversation he was having with Borgin, leaving them stood around as if they were nothing more than the usual common witch or wizard.

"Mr Borgin," Lucius had had enough too, for he spoke to gather the man's attention with just enough threat in his sleek voice.

"Why are we being ignored mother?" Draco was looking up at her now, wearing the same grey eyes that she saw within the heart-shaped face in the mirror. Her little dragon was so used to getting the first class treatment that she had no trouble believing he was perplexed at what was happening.

She barely heard the boy, Tom, announce that they were leaving. She looked up, tilting her head back at the most unnoticeable of angles, to make sure the boy knew, regardless of the fact he could make Borgin jump through his hoops, he would not managed to get her to take even a toe off of the ground. H

e seemed to know exactly what she was doing too, because a smile lit up his face, which would have been very polite if not the glint to his dark blue eyes. She'd seen it in dear Bella's eyes enough times, between the blood-lust of battle and the worship of the Dark Lord. No, that was the twinkle of someone that would gladly tear her limb from limb, that would rip her to sherds with nothing but a few words. It was the very games she'd played so well in Slytherin, she knew that look all to well. The boy had a trump card up his sleeve. And he wasn't afraid to play it either.

Those malicious eyes slid over to stare directly into that of her husband's, the perfectly formed lips parting. His face was that of an angels, but as soon as those sounds left from between his teeth and tongue, she knew he was nothing but a devil. For it was not words that left his lips, but instead sharp, drawn out hisses of breath, and it shamefully took her a second to realize exactly what she was listening to. She'd heard it before, but it was with a touch of hysteria she realized the exact origins.

That was Parseltongue.

The boy, the sixteen year old boy before her had looked her husband in the eye and spoke to him in Parseltongue. Of course none of them would have any idea what he was saying, she couldn't help the little gasp that escaped her lips regardless.

She'd been so very wrong. She'd looked at the boy and just seen him as a handsome child who thought himself above his actual station. Evidently, she actually had no idea where that station was. Though the sinking feeling within her stomach informed her that it was quite probably above her own. And that of her husband's.

Distress and nerves claws at her inners, a part of her just wanted to grab Draco and run, flee the shop. She knew it was a bad idea to bring him here, but she'd seen no reason not to allow Lucius this one thing. Now she was wishing with all her heart she'd put her foot down on the topic.

Draco was looking up at her, not sure what Parseltongue even was, and she would assuredly be teaching him all about it the second they got home.

She looked at her husband from the corner of her eyes, recognising the overwhelmed terror that was starting to leak through his mask. They'd just gotten their life back together, this wasn't allowed to happen.

The same sounds rang through the air again, in a different tone, which seemed astonishingly enough, almost childlike. It took her a second to realize the noise had come from the other boy, who was clutching at 'Tom', tiny hands wrapped up in the older boy's hand. He could be no older than Draco, maybe even younger, and he was speaking a language that she'd only ever heard from the Dark Lord. Only from a man who's very name still tormented thousands.

The older boy didn't looked back at them as he walked to the door, though the younger one gave one last glance over his shoulder, shyly waving goodbye to Borgin as he went. Narcissa had wasted no time once they duo had left, she'd snatched Draco up, ignoring his whines of protest, and informed Lucius she'd met him on Vertick Alley, where she would be in 'Drinks Delighted', treating Draco to hot chocolate. Not asked him, told him.

.

Which brought them to the present, where they had just left the shop, Narcissa having wiped the foamy moustache from Draco's upper lip with a conjured napkin. She had this sudden need to mother the boy, to make sure everything was okay in the world. That her little dragon had no wounds, that he hadn't been pierced with the sword of fear which the Parselmouth Tom had wielded so expertly. She could still see the chinks in her husbands armour, and no doubt he saw the fissures that had been carved effortlessly into her own.

The snow was once again falling around them, which at any other point would have made their Yule celebrations even more magical. Now though, it was just a cruel reminder of what had been ruined upon this day. Their feeling of safety, their security, had been brutally ripped form under them. Not since those meetings with the Dark Lord, those meetings before she'd become pregnant with her most precious baby boy, had she been so panic-stricken.

"I do not know Narcissa," Lucius never ran a hand through his hair, certainly never showed his frustration in such an obvious manner. But she picked upon the tightening of his cane, the tense tilt to his shoulders.

"Has he ever..." It was unthinkable, but everyone knew that Parseltongue was a born trait. It didn't just suddenly appear in a family line. And the Dark Lord had claimed himself the heir of Slytherin, the last descendant of the noble line. And he could speak to serpents, could control them, to prove it.

She had never thought to doubt that claim before this day. But now-

Lord Voldemort was not father material. The very thought of it disgusted her. That was not a man that should have a child. But once again, Parselmouths did not pop up out of nowhere. Especially two of them, just like that. And they were old enough, the youngest only just, but they were still old enough to have been, she shivered, fathered before the man's downfall.

"He never once mentioned heirs," her husband looked just as unsettled at the thought as she did.

"What are you talking about father?" Draco, in all his curious, childish innocence, was looking up at the two of them once again. His naivety was sweet, but with this danger suddenly appearing, this ice cold shock that'd thrown them for a curved quaffle, she would have to ruin it.

Better to have Draco terrified and alive then naïve and dead.

* * *

Bending his legs, Tom landed with a soft thump, smoothly catching the collection of flailing limbs that was Harry Potter. The little Parselmouth blushed furiously, scrambling out of his hands as soon as his feet were firmly placed upon the floor. It wasn't unusual for Portkeys to provide a turbulent ride for those of smaller heights, but that had been almost ridiculous. Tom was going to drill grace and dignity into the boy, even if it killed him.

Considering the fact his older-self had gotten his body turned to ash, that was a very genuine risk.

Flicking his hand, the yew spell-caster popped into his waiting fingers, warming beneath his loving carcass. It felt like it'd been years that he'd last physically held it, even if he knew it was a matter of weeks in reality, discounting the time he'd spent in the diary. He needed to know how the boy had reflected that curse, he needed that ability for himself if it was magically possible. And if not, he needed the boy on side. Hell, even if he did, then he still wanted the brat on side. Nothing would demoralize the enemy and intimidate his own forces more that a conversation in Parseltongue. Add in the fact the Light's oh so precious saviour was the very one plunging their ideals into darkness, well, Tom always did have an appreciation for delicious irony.

"Where are we?" Finally, the boy had dropped that irritating stutter, the hesitancy that always came at the start of his questions. And he had taken on-board his early advice, he was looking his right in the eye with his arms calmly held by his side.

"In the North of Albania, perhaps a five minutes walk from an all magical village. We are here to collect a di- a crown, if it is still present. If not, it is no loss. Consider it an adventure."

Harry beamed at him and Tom smirked. It was so easy. Children always had been so easy to twist to his own ideals, to spin their minds around so quick that they were left stumbling about all over the place, relying on him to guide them.

"It's a bit dark for an adventure," Harry murmured from beside him, bright green eyes peeking at the shrubbery surrounding them.

Tom hummed in agreement, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face, scanning the surroundings as he did so. He couldn't hear the tell tale whispering of an approaching snake, so that meant it was probably prey animals he was currently listening to as they scuttled about in the bushes. The winter air held less of a chill now that they were closer to the equator, but it was still cold enough to warrant a coat, especially with the sun so close to setting.

"Tell me Harry, what do you think you need to succeed in this world?"

The boy jumped a bit at the question, turning those big emerald gems up on his before a shy blush bloomed upon his cheeks.

"To be an adult." The answer was so unexpected it actually startled a deep chuckle from Tom. Looking down at the slip of a boy beside him, he could easily see it from Harry's point of view. Harry, who had probably no memories of his parents, only those of his awful aunt and uncle. An aunt and uncle whom had held the power, whom had kicked him when he was down, to keep him down, making sure he'd never be able to stand up to them.

"Perhaps, but then why is it that I was able to trump your uncle, who is an adult? Something I am not."

The frown was back, but that was a good thing, for that meant Harry was actually thinking about his words, far unlike the other orphans he'd tried to teach as a child, whom he'd quickly learnt were not in fact, worth the effort he'd first attempted to put into them. He was four years old when he learnt that lesson.

"You're stronger than uncle Vernon, because you're magic. My cloak was stolen, because Dumdore-"

"Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore," Harry corrected himself at Tom's promoting, sticking his tongue out in a moment of playful childishness, "was bigger than me... So to be successful you have to be strong right?"

"Close. You have to have power Harry. Power can come in many forms. There's the typical powers; that of being older, which your uncle used against you. That of being smarter, which Dumbledore used against you. And that of being physically and magically, which is what I could use against you."

Harry stiffened slightly, his shoulders tensing, but Tom just smiled slightly, continuing to walk along the warn forest path that would lead them to the nearest magical settlement. That heavens Albania believed in the segregation of magical people from muggles. Tom wasn't sure he'd be able to control himself if he saw a muggle and the perfect opportunity to relive some stress. Well, he could resist.

But the temptation would be there, and he was determined to focus all his mental aptitude upon Harry for now. It was in these precious few days that the boy would be at him most impressionable, right while he was trying to find a foot hold. He needed to law down the rules before Harry could start fighting back, to let the boy see for himself that Tom held all the power here.

"It's like with Dudley, I can't fight back," Harry muttered, kicking angrily at a stone. Tom had a good feeling he wasn't suppose to hear that, but ploughed on with his little speech anyway.

"Not necessarily true Harry. Just because you aren't the strongest doesn't mean you can't hold a few cards of your own. Take black-mail for example. If you had broken one of your Aunt's vases and your idiot of a cousin actually owned a brain cell, he could have gotten you to do several things for him while promising not to inform your aunt."

"But Aunt Petunia would blame me anyway." Damn, this was going to be harder than he thought to explain. Curse those muggles for all but ruining Harry's understanding of a normal family. Regardless, perhaps this would make it easier for Harry to navigate the shady world that was black-mail and threats. After all, the boy clearly had little naiveté left in regards to trouble. At least the somewhat harmless kind. He'd just have to step it up a notch.

"Let me try that again. If Dudley was chasing after you with the intent to hurt you, what would you do? Stand and fight?"

Harry blushed, clearly embarrassed by what was to be his answer, but Tom wasn't surprised to hear the boy whisper that he would flee and hide.

"Exactly. Self preservation. There is a thing as knowing when to fight, or when to flee. The better you hide yourself, the better the chance is that you won't be hurt. That's basically cunning. Outsmarting the opponent. Like the Malfoy's today. They assumed they were more important than we were. Why Because we were 'under-dressed' by their opinion and we had no adult by out side. However, since I spoke with such confidence, and we have our little gift of speaking to snakes, the three were suitably thrown. They're weary of us now, and as a result, won't dare to threaten us. Not yet at least. Do you understand?" Maybe that'd been too big a speech for Harry's tiny six year old mind. Tom wasn't too sure.

The boy's eye-lids were starting to droop a bit, a clear sign that he was getting tired, that he'd had a good deal of excitement for one day and wouldn't be able to take much more. But Tom still needed answers, he refused to wait for them anymore. So if Harry had to stay up a little bit longer, then tough luck.

He'd clearly survived worse.

.

Qytetmagjepsës was a small village all but hidden away within a Northern Albanian forest. It was a quaint little thing, and while the architecture was different, it did remind him somewhat of Hogsmeade. There was a small inn on the main street, a tiny thing made from two adjoining houses knocked together. The surrounding area was popular with all sorts of scholars, due to the influx of natural magic that surrounded trees. No one knew why, though many a person had a theory upon the origin of the energy thick within the air. Tom could feel it, dancing along his skin, a warm, almost vibrant breeze rushing through his hair. Harry quivered next to him, no doubt touched by the effects but unsure of what was causing the feelings dancing about his body.

"It's just the magic in the air, but it's a tad more natural than Diagon."

Harry offered up a bashful smile, slipping his hand back into Tom's grasp as they made their way down the street. The inn door was a thick, sturdy thing, but easy enough to push open, letting the two of them slither into the much warmer environment. Pulling his outer-robes off till they were folded neatly over his left arm, Tom strode forwards to the desk, catching Harry's attempt to copy him from the corner of his eye and finding it marginally amusing. Already he was a role model, how sweet.

The woman at the desk spoke very little English, and Tom had never taken the time out of his life to learn Albanian, but regardless he managed to wrangle a room for the two of them and haggle the price down. Raised as an orphan with no money for the vast amount of his life, and Tom had become frugal out of necessity. If he could haggle a price down, he would do it. If he could charm someone into allowing him to pay less, you could bet your galleons he'd be doing so. Waste not, want not. Or whatever the silly muggle saying was.

The old woman -left handed, old wound on her right leg that led to her putting most of her weight on the right, deep wrinkles for her age, stressed- pointed them to the stairs, sparing Harry a welcoming smile. No doubt because his young child was aesthetically pleasing beneath a thick layer of orphan. Or perhaps that was why he got the smile. Tom wasn't sure nor did he care. It'd just make things easier for the boy, he'd be able to charm his way in and out of trouble with a face like that. Tom should know, he'd had a similar face, even if his own had been somewhat more angelic. If you could ignore the mask of apathy that always rested upon his features. That tended to disturb most people, which was why he'd taken to wearing different faces for the sake of keeping people from staring too much. However, he cared not for the opinion of those around him at the moment, so he was free of any tricks upon his face for the sake of others right now.

All but Harry.

.

The room was a modest little thing, two single beds and a small en-suite bathroom, luckily enough, with a bath included. Plucking out the two trunks that he had upon his person, Tom gave a small flick of his wand, the luggage expanding till it came to rest at the bottom of their bed. Harry was pawing sleepily at his eyes beside him, blinking what was perhaps twice the normal amount.

Spending another minute taking in the room as he slipped off both his shoes and hung his cloak up, Tom turned to Harry and paused. The boy was frowning, looking between the hook and his own cloak, the former of which was far out of reach for his miniature height. Instead of asking for held though, the boy simply pulled his trunk over a little, leaping up onto the hard surface and hanging his outer robes all on his lonesome, pushing the luggage back once he was done with it. At least he wasn't a whiny brat who'd be expecting Tom to do everything for him now that he'd rescued him.

Throwing up a silencing ward, Tom addressed the boy.

"Harry, before we start getting ready for bed, I've got something I want you to think seriously about."

The green eyed child, who was halfway through the process of removing his shoes, frowned slightly, going to chew his lip before forcibly stopping himself. He didn't forget easy either, that was good too.

"I want to see if I can find out what happened the night you got that scar."

"How?"

"Mind magic. I'll be able to look in your head at your memories, see if you've subconsciously repressed anything. It might help us learn why you survived the killing curse and no one else did."

He was still frowning, but it was more thoughtful than suspicious now. Am improvement at least.

"Will I see the memories too?" Ah.

He was in a potential disaster zone right now. Would it be morally right of him -not that he cared one wit about that really- to allow the boy to quite possibly witness his mother's death? It was said she'd died before her child, attempting to shield him with her own body. Did he dare to risk his little Parselmouth's mind like that?

Decisions, decisions, decisions.

Well, if it all went pear-shaped he could always Obliviate the boy and try again. Yes, perhaps that was for the best.

"Yes."

"Do it, please."

Taking a gentle grip upon Harry's small chin, Tom tilted his head back slightly, looking right at those unnaturally bright green eyes.

Now that they were actually in a brightly lit space, not a cupboard under the stairs, not the darkness of Knockturn Alley or the dusk of a forest, he could see they were not really emeralds at all. Instead eyes the colour of the killing curse stared back up at Tom unblinking. It was so unnerving a sight it sent a delicious shiver right down his spine.

Oh, he could see this boy on the battlefields in the future, those fiercely coloured eyes flashing, wand blazing. He was so close he could almost taste Harry's magic, which sang the tune of air electrified before a storm, twinning with a melody of a light summers breeze. Magic as overwhelming as a hurricane, or as delicate as a light breath. So much potential. He needed it all, needed to know Harry was on his side, that he had such a valuable resource so close and right beside him.

Tom dived right into the boy's mind with no regrets.

.

The memories whizzed by their forms, Tom keeping a tight grip on the mental formation of the younger boy. Harry was as wide eyed and awed as he had been with every piece of magic Tom had introduced him to. For a moment, the older boy wondered exactly when magic had become the norm to him, wondered when the joy and reverence he'd had for his gift had been sucked right out of him, replaced by this cool acceptance. He didn't like it, he'd prided himself on the fact he'd been the one Slytherin who'd exhausted all the different areas of magic, all the possibilities. To think that he was getting, well, lazy would be the apt description, was horrifying. Maybe having Harry nearby was going to be a bigger help than he'd first thought. He needed to keep his mind fresh, to analysis all the ideas, the outcomes and opportunities that came his way.

"This is my mind," came the whispered voice that was Harry beside him, head twisting this way and that in an attempt to get a better look at the organised chaos that was his mind.

However, Tom was the one who'd preformed the spell, and as such, was the one who was controlling their current passage, regardless of who actually owned this mind.

Focusing his magic on everything linked to the killing curse, the bright green flash, the abundance of menacing magic that promised a sweet and quick death, Tom let all the memories of the Dursley family soar past them, digging deeper into the boy's childhood. It would a somewhat traumatic memory, a stranger appearing and at the very least, panicking the boy's mother. The emotions would have been running high, so there was a huge chance the memory would be around somewhere.

As if called by the thought, the two boys were suddenly blind-sided, finding themselves dropped into a memory. It a quaint little cottage, as far as Tom could tell that was. He'd seen the blown up, wrecked remains that could only have come to be from the destruction of a rebounded killing curse, but now he had a chance to take in the nursery. It was a pleasant little setting, and for a moment, Tom wondered if given the chance, would his own mother had set up something like this? It didn't matter either way, the filthy muggle she'd slept with had turned her out of his home, wife or not. Pregnant with his child or not.

He didn't focus too long on it, instead watching as red-head burst into the room, holding what could only be Harry as a small baby. His features were layered in puppy fat, something that his uncle and aunt had been sure to strip him of. Tom wasn't sure if he made a handsome baby, but the smaller Harry did have a sort of appeal to him. The slightly bigger Harry currently stood beside him tightening his grip on Tom's hand, but was nevertheless gazing upon his mother with a sort of reverence.

The stairs creaked from the hallway and Tom knew his older self was making his way up the stairs and felt a momentary stab of panic. Would Harry recognise their features? Would he link them together? He hoped not, it was too early in the game to be admitting to the fact he was part of the man that had killed Harry's parents. Too delicate a stage.

"Harry, Momma loves you, Dada loves you."

Tom tensed slightly at the words, even more so when he witnessed Lily Potter's hands, which gentle caressing the baby Harry's cheeks, give off a very faint glow. This was it. There was some magic, something from the red-head mudblood before him, that had saved Harry. He needed desperately to know what happened. He didn't need to look down to know Harry was completely out of his, no doubt too focused upon the form of his mother to understand he was about to witness a great magical feat, something that had never been done before.

The door burst open at that point, and Tom turned to look at the image before him. His older self appeared to have lost a great deal of his looks, and Tom couldn't say he was too happy about that. He was used to charming his way into things, a pretty face always helped. But hey, it was open war by this point in time, he doubted anyone would have been charmed by Voldemort after some of his deeds done in the war, pretty face or not.

His older self let out a cackle of high pitched laughter, leaving Tom somewhat disturbed. True he'd always gotten a buzz off of killing, of cornering the prey and seeing the fleeting hope leave their eyes as they realized the predator had them trapped. But he'd never been this, unhinged. Not like this.

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry." She was begging, this light witch was begging. Why did she even think it would work?

Tom was even more mystified when he heard Voldemort speak, for it was not the incantation of the killing curse that left his lips.

"Stand aside you silly girl, stand aside now."

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead! Not Harry! Please, have mercy, have mercy..."

The green glow of the curse struck true, sending the beautiful Lily Potter to the floor, the light leaving the oh so bright green eyes that were just shades apart from twinning that of her sons.

Harry let out a choked scream beside him, even as little Harry just stared in confusion at Voldemort. The boy's forehead though, the last place Lily Potter had touched, where she had planted a kiss upon his brow, glowed a brief white. A small thing that Voldemort would not notice, too busy looking down at his latest kill.

But Tom saw it.

And vicious triumph raced through him. He was right, the witch had done something. And then Voldemort looked up, staring into the younger Harry's eyes and a cruel smirk played across his face.

"Goodnight little Harry."

And everything exploded in a flash of green.

.

The both of them were thrown violently from Harry's head, Tom falling back onto the southern bed and Harry landing upon him. The boy was wailing like a banshee, big fat tears streaming down his face.

Tom, thoroughly disgusted, thought about throwing the boy out of his personal space, but managed to stop himself just in time. He was trying to build up the boy's trust in him.

So instead he braced himself, collecting the younger boy up in his arms and allowing Harry to press his snotty face into the crook of his neck, hands fisting into Tom's shirt as whimpers escaped his throat, the loud cries dying down. Tom was thankful he'd had the forethought to throw up a silencing ward earlier.

Allowing the mortification to show upon his face but not in his movements, Tom began rubbing the younger boy's back in soft, smooth circles, not bothering to speak. Nothing he could say would help Harry. He just had to wait for the boy to get his act together, regardless of how long it would take. Hopefully Tom wouldn't have to play comforting older brother for long.

Thankfully, Harry drifted off to sleep clearly tiring himself out with that cringeworthy display of emotion. Having not cried since he was a small toddler, and even then it was on very rare occasions, Tom wasn't surprised over the fact he really didn't understand the boy. Well, it was just something he'd have to think about later on.

For now, he spelled Harry into a pair of sleeping clothes, cleaning up his face as he did so. Those drying tear-streaks were unattractive to look at, that much was for sure. He had a lot to think about, but it wasn't going to get done while his mind was spinning with information.

Lily Potter had used some form of magic, how potent he didn't know. But he would find out. Did it work for all children, or was it just Harry? Would the fact his older self had requested, as much as he could request anyway, her to step aside mean anything?

Many mothers had sacrificed themselves for their children, and Lily Potter probably wasn't the first to do so with a bit of magic to aid things. How much had been her, how much had been him, and how much had been Harry?

He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact he hadn't cut the mudblood down instantly, instead asking her to step aside. He didn't understand it. Not that it mattered, he had Harry and all the time in the world to figure it out.

He'd look at it from a different view with a clear head in morning.

* * *

When Harry woke up, he felt numb. He didn't remember getting into bed, getting changed into his pyjamas. He didn't remember falling asleep. But he did remember his mother. His beautiful mother who'd stood between him and the man that wanted to hurt him, his mother, who'd loved him. Who'd promised his father had loved him. Who'd wanted to die so that he could live. Well, it'd worked.

Rolling over onto his side after laying still for five minutes, attempt to muster up the energy to get out of bed, Harry found himself looking at Tom's sleeping face. The older boy, his cousin, looked very peaceful. The strands of dark hair, usually so neatly placed atop his head, had fallen into his face, a good handful coming to rest before his eyes. His brow wasn't as tense now, that thoughtful line that usually rested upon his lips was gone too, leaving the boy looking much younger than what Harry had first thought. Even though Harry had known that Tom couldn't really be more than ten years older than him, it didn't change the fact Tom acted like an adult on most occasions. He was smarter than any adult Harry had ever known, and he could read people like an open book.

Harry wasn't blind. He knew that there was an advantage to being able to predict people, that was how he knew when his cousin was going to try hurting him, or when to not bother Aunt Petunia, which was pretty much all of the time except for those few rare chances. But Tom, Tom could read everything about people. He could see it in the gleam of the older boy's eyes, like when Dudley was looking in a sweetshop window, mentally adding up how much pressure he'd have to apply to his parents in order to get everything he wanted.

Tom took it so much further, seem to know the exact way to prod someone in the direction he wanted them to go, how to steer them away from things he didn't want known. He'd seen it with the blond family that'd been in Mr Borgin's shop. How he'd played them to be less important than himself. Where Dudley had been king of the playground, Tom acted like he was king of this new world. He'd said just the previous day that he was strong, physically, mentally and magically. Harry couldn't fight him, not on fair ground that was.

Not that he wanted to. He liked Tom. Tom had saved him.

His mother had saved him from the dark wizard, and Tom had saved him from the Dursleys. He liked Ton even more knowing the boy was going to teach him.

Harry understood what the boy had said the previous day. If he could fight someone fairly, then he would have to not fight fair. Tom had used the example of black-mail, but Harry could think of other things. Like when he'd told Aunt Petunia he'd finished dinner. He'd not mentioned he'd cooked a little more than usually and eaten his own share as he severed up the food onto the plates. But he'd been so hungry that day, and best of all, his aunt hadn't noticed. That was when he'd learnt the power of not speaking the whole truth, just enough to get by. There was probably a fancy word for what he'd done, and continued doing after that, but Harry didn't care to learn it.

All he knew was that it was a skill for survival, and that was that.

Harry sat up on his bed, and startled when Tom's eyes snapped open at the squeak of the bed springs. The dark blue eyes locked onto his form immediately before the older boy relaxed somewhat, slowly sitting up and running a sluggish had through his hair. He seemed somewhat started to see the dark locks flop about around the corners of his vision and Harry was unable to help the little giggle that escaped his lips, even if it was instantly sobered by the thought of his mother. His mother who'd died so he could live. Was he right in being happy when she was dead? When his father was dead?

"Harry."

He hadn't realized Tom was looking into his eyes, but as soon as he did, he couldn't look away.

"Your parents died so you could live as you wish. They died for you, they'd love you no matter what you did with your life. You should live happy for them." Tom made sense, he should live happy for his parents. If he just sat around and looked upset, then his parents would have died for nothing, wouldn't they? They had been witches and wizards, and they'd fought for what they believed in. Tom had said he should form his own opinions on what he wanted to believe in. He didn't like muggles, not if they were all like the Dursleys. No one had believed him, not the teachers or his classmates, when he said they hurt him. He'd just ended up in more trouble with his relatives. Did he want them to know about the wizarding world?

No, no he did not. This was his world now, and he wanted the Dursleys far away from it, where they couldn't ruin everything again. But if his parents had thought the muggles were okay, then maybe he needed to do some more research before he decided. He got the feeling Tom didn't like muggles all too much either, that they were alike in some-ways, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Go get a shower and wash your hair Harry, our adventure starts today."

He'd worry about all that thinking stuff later, he'd never been on an adventure before. The Dursleys never let him have fun. But Tom was here, Tom would look after him. This would be fun.

.

They'd eaten breakfast and set off into the forest now, leaving their trunks in the inn room which they'd be sleeping in again later tonight. Harry had asked Tom if he had a house, and Tom had said he'd got land. Land he was going to build a magnificent house upon, and that he might even let Harry help him design it.

Harry was beyond excited. He could only imagine the kind of houses that could be built with magic. Would it be like a castle? With a dragon guarding the grounds to swallow any intruders?

Would it be a flying house, never touching the ground, so that both he and Tom would have to fly up to the door?

Well, Harry knew one thing for sure. It was not going to be like the Dursleys house, identical to everyone else. He couldn't picture Tom living in a house that was the carbon copy of another. Tom was special, that much was evident. And he would live in a special house that was as smart as he was, and probably as magical as well. Maybe they'd have a giant snake to defend their lands instead of a dragon? That way they'd be able to talk to it. That'd be much cooler, that was, if giant snakes existed. Harry didn't know, but he wasn't going to push the idea away. Tom would probably know, but then again, so would his book. He'd consult it later on, and ask Tom as a last resort. He didn't want to rely on Tom for everything, that's what he'd had to do at the Dursleys, before he'd learnt it was easier to make his own way. That he could rely on himself better than any one else around him. Tom may be kinder than his relatives, but even he had to have a breaking point.

And Harry was determined not to find it. Not yet.

* * *

Watching his young travelling companion from the corner of his eyes, Tom frowned slightly in confusion.

Harry was a mystery. He'd thought he'd had the boy figured out, but just this morning he'd awoken to find the serious green eyes -such an exquisitely startling colour- completely focused upon his face. He'd not been able to meet the boy's gaze since then, not long enough to dig through the boy's mind and find out just what he was thinking. He'd been a typical child up until this point, from his hesitancy over pushing Tom, to his happiness at being taken away from his awful relatives. But now the boy was thinking.

Whatever he was thinking about had been triggered by what had happened last night, Tom was sure of it. Maybe the boy was suffering from a conflict of interests? His parents had fought for the muggles to know of their world, to slowly allow them to learn of the magic around them. But Harry knew better.

Harry knew they were a selfish, cruel breed of human, that they would ruin all that was around them. True wizarding Britain had all but stagnated now, but he would fix it. However, to fix it, he'd need to get rid of the influence that muggle-borns persisted on bringing with them when they entered the wizarding world.

They had no idea of the traditions they were stepping on, that they were practically spitting back in the face of the greater power that had given them magic. Magic which came from the core of the earth. That was why muggle-borns struggled so much, because when they dismissed the one who had given them power, they were bringing all that bad luck down upon themselves. It was so simple, it was why Tom was so powerful. Because he'd turned to the greater powers and thanked them for their gift. And he'd been gifted in return for acknowledging them, for constantly acknowledging them where no one else had bothered as much as he before. It was why he was such a great wizard.

Dumbledore had done it too, but the man had turned his back on it in recent years. Which was why the spirit of magic, the spirit of the earth, had twisted events so that her chosen, Tom, would stand opposed Dumbledore. And he was listening. He wanted rid of the man. He wanted rid of the muggle influence. If muggle-borns came into their world, they should embrace it, not deny everything about it. If an Englishman visited China he wouldn't expect things to be the same, so why should muggle-borns expect the wizarding world to be the spitting image of the one they grew up in?

Scowling, Tom drew his wand, already running through a mental list of all the topics he could broach with Harry to make sure he was firmly on side.

Pushing the matter to the back of his mind, Tom crouched down, resting upon his heels whilst his free hand brushed against the strange marking that remained etched into the dirt path, regardless of the fact near a thousand years had passed since they were made. He could feel the magic tingle beneath his fingertips as Harry came bouncing over, killing curse eyes wide with curiosity. Whatever had put him in that strangely dull mood had evidently been pushed to the back of his mind for now, instead he was focused upon Tom and everything he was doing. It pleased him, to see the boy so interested, so focused.

At least his little test subject, his little Parselmouth was intelligent. He'd probably have killed the boy by now had he been as bad as his cousin, that was for sure.

Running his wand along the markings, he felt the magic sizzle up his arm, sparking along his spine and directing his head to look right at a nearby tree. The illusion that'd been wrapped around the ancient looking flora had fallen away, leaving the healthy trunk visible, along with the head sized hallow that was currently facing them.

"Excellent, we're here."

They'd been walking for a good quarter of an hour, he could see that the trip had tired Harry. The boy's cheeks were somewhat flushed, a few days of good meals was not enough to undo all the damage that the muggles had done. Rummaging about in the moleskin pouch upon his hip, Tom pulled out two chocolate bars, handing one to Harry whilst he popped the wrapping off of his own. He was in no rush, and chocolate had always been a delicacy he couldn't afford before. Never having any money at Wool's, and then he'd only been able to eat it sparingly at Hogwarts, risking throwing up on the richer than normal foods. But this new body didn't suffer from the after effects of malnutrition, so he could easily rip into the bar. Harry was not as underfed as he had been, and clearly had been fed the scraps of the rich muggle meals, so he'd probably be able to stomach a chocolate bar. If not, well he'd grow accustomed to it. The boy seemed pleased enough with the small amount of food he'd been given as a snack, if the delight that danced across his features were any indication.

"Have you found it?" Harry asked, wrapped up in the thick winter robes, chocolate smeared around his lips. If it were anyone else looking at the boy, Tom supposed, they'd have found it cute. He however, did not like mess.

Flicking his wand at the boy and watching as the cleaning charm did it's work, Tom stood from his crouch, making his way over to the large tree that could only have remained alive through magic. He peeked his head through the hole and was somewhat disappointed to find the diadem gone.

Hardly surprised, but disappointed all the same.

Removing his head from the tree, Tom cut across the small clearing they were in, halting his march just before he flattened the young Potter underfoot, who quickly scrambled to his feet, dusting loose dirt from the rear of his pants.

"Did you find it?"

Tom shock his head, taking a moment of time to pat Harry in a sympathetic manner upon his shoulder, for the boy looked crushed that they'd not found the diadem.

"I'll try a locator spell." Taking a look around the hallow, Tom frowned. If he'd already moved the diadem then it was probably a Horcrux already, something which would call more to him than the object itself. Though he doubted he'd have hidden it nearby. He'd end up glowing a bit too, because that was what he ultimately was, a Horcrux. But he could always explain it away to Harry that he was lighting up because he had a little too much magic and hadn't used enough recently. The boy would buy that, he barely knew anything about magic as it was, and he'd probably forget about this by the time he did know enough to contradict what he was saying.

"Locus Horcrux!" Flicking his wand in a circle, Tom watched as his limb began to give off a soft white glow, growing up his body and surrounding his form. He was the physical body of a Horcrux, just like an entire item would light up. The thing was, he wasn't the only source of a glow.

Tom wasn't sure what to do, what to think when he realise that the secondary glow wasn't coming off on a hidden diadem or ring or anything else, only himself. Himself and Harry.

Harry.

A Horcrux.

His Horcrux.

_Mine_. Harry was his Horcrux.

_Mine mine mine_.

This changed everything. Before he'd been intrigued over Harry's survival, amused and surprised by his Parseltongue. But this-

_Mineminemine_.

A creature came alive in his chest, for Harry was now the most precious person alive outside of himself. Harry would not be allowed to die. For he was a Horcrux. His Horcrux. He owned that boy, that boy had a piece of him so it was only right Tom got him in return.

_Mineminemine_.

He could barely think, barely form a coherent thought other than the fact that this boy before him, this boy he'd been so unsure of picking up, of approaching, was a Horcrux.

How in the name of all that was magical had that happened? He knew for sure that his older self had not planned to make Harry into one, for he had fired a killing curse at point blank range at the boy. An accidental Horcrux? Sweet Merlin, would the mystery of this boy ever end?

He hoped it didn't. His Horcrux wouldn't be allowed to die, so Harry would simply have to make his own. He'd have Harry make his own Horcrux and they'd both live forever. Whatever half heard prophecy that his older-self had been working on was irrelevant now, all that matter was survival, and Harry was part of the key to that. The boy was holding a part of his soul. The thought was exceedingly difficult to wrap his head around, and all he could do was stare at Harry in muted shock, as the boy observed the glow coming off his own body, most intense around the scar upon his forehead.

"Why are we glowing Tom?" Those big, killing curse green eyes were looking at him and Tom forced himself to focus, to think past the haze that surrounded his mind.

He needed a plan first. They needed somewhere safe to study this, because suddenly, everything was a problem. Harry could trip down the stairs and break his neck, a rouge wizard could try to kill him, he was so damningly vulnerable. All the other Horcruxes were probably hidden away, some-place safe and rigged to the nines with curses and traps. But he couldn't just throw Harry into a cave and forget about him afterwards. The boy had a mind of his own.

Dear lord, did he tell Harry what he was? No, not yet. He'd have to nestle them away somewhere, really focus on turning the boy because Harry was not allowed to be used against him. He wouldn't allow it. Holy Merlin, this changed everything.

And then, like a bucket of ice cold water had been thrown down his back, he remembered Dumbledore.

Dumbledore who'd been the one to drop Harry off at his muggle relatives. Who'd no doubt seen him between Voldemort's attack and the Muggles. Did he know what Harry was? He'd have no doubt gathered that it was very, very dark magic. Magic that had stuck around even after the energy of the killing curse had left the room. Was his old transfigurations teacher onto him? Did he know?

Fear, fear unlike any he'd ever known attacked his insides, his hand trembling for a second. He needed a clear head, he needed to think more than anything. He was scaring Harry.

That last observation had his head snapping up, holding out one hand to the boy that he forced to remain steady. They needed to get somewhere safe, then he'd think some more on this. Safety first, panic later. And now that he had a goal, he was able to push down the tornado of emotions that was ripping him up inside.

"What's wrong Tom?" He'd hated the fact that the boy used his muggle name, that he couldn't have the boy used the one he'd fashioned himself. But now Harry was almost part of him. It wasn't that big of an infraction now.

"I've just realized Dumbledore may know we'd come here." The lie fell from his tongue effortlessly and had the desired effect, Harry's eyes blown wide in fear. No doubt realize if they were caught he'd be sent back to his relatives. It was easy to understand the young Parselmouth's -and how much of that was Potter blood and how much Horcrux?- goal. His goal was to stay as far away from the Dursleys as possible, to remain in the world of magic as much as possible. Tom could relate, he'd been the same way when he'd first been introduced. If that worked to his advantage, so what?

As if he didn't have enough on his mind at that moment in time, another's magic flared up in the vicinity. But he knew that magic, knew it better than he knew the halls of Hogwarts, better than he knew the face in the mirror.

Voldemort.

Tom let out a bark of crazy laughter. Of course, the one place they come after leaving England, it's right into the hands of his counterpart. His counterpart who currently, didn't have body. And a Horcrux that did.

A growl vibrated around in his throat, because there was no way he was merging with his older self, he wasn't going back in another diary. He was free, and he was going to remain that way. He had to get them to safety, and he had to do it now.

Taking a tighter hold of Harry's hand, Tom twisted on the spot, apperating away from the clearing. But not before he witnessed the dark mass that came flying towards them, only seconds away from catching them. No doubt he'd caught a glimpse of Tom, but did he realize who he was with? Hopefully not.

.

They reappeared in the inn room, Harry throwing up as soon as they landed. He'd forgot to mention that apperating wasn't pleasant, and he'd not attempted side along over such a distance yet. Not in this body or the one before.

"We need to pack, we need to get away now." Tom gave a jerk of his wand -for it was his wand, not Voldemort's anymore- and everything they'd left out began flying into the trunks that rested at the foot of their beds. Harry yelped beside him, face still contorted with panic and he clung to Tom, who sent a wordless cleaning spell at the boy as an after thought. He may have only had five full years of magical education, but he was a quick study. He knew all about wordless magic, it wasn't hard. He'd been doing wandless for years after all.

Stretching out his sensing, Tom recoiled at the hasty and very violent magic that was closing in on them from the direction they'd apperated from. No doubt Voldemort was desperate, five years as a spirit with no form would do that to a person. But forty years formless in diary produced more determination.

Shrinking the two trunks, Tom pocketed them with one hand whilst the other roughly pulled a necklace out from beneath his shirt. At the end hung a snake fang, about as long as his thumb and half the width. A Portkey.

He'd been presented a list of properties by the goblins, and Thuban Lestrange, his fellow year-mate who had been killed in battle two years before the abrupt end of the war had willed a French villa to Tom Riddle, because leaving something for Voldemort would have seen the Ministry demanding the property. Once he'd gotten him under thumb, Lestrange had been quite the useful little servant, Tom wasn't going to argue with that.

Hurriedly taking a hold of Harry's hand, Tom wrapped the necklace around both of their wrists, well aware that Voldemort would be upon them in nothing less than thirty seconds.

"Viperine." They were whisked away, and Tom didn't doubt that his older self was angry. Probably more than angry.

No more Albania for them it seemed.

* * *

**And so ends Part 1. Whenever I'm writing there always seems to be a lot of speech, but as soon as I finish the chapter and look back at it, there's a lot less. Not sure why that is. The next update will come when I have the skeleton for Part 2 sorted out.**

**So, Tom discovers Harry's a Horcrux. and suddenly, everything changes. And of course one can not go to Albania without a close call with the Dark Lord himself.**

**.**

**Queries;  
\- Is Harry going to Hogwarts? I have no idea, maybe? I'll see how controlling Tom ends up. The boy might end up going to any of the three schools, or he might just spend his education being tutored by Tom. I'm not sure yet, but I'm leaning on the latter option, with Harry maybe popping into the Triwzard in disguise. Or maybe going to Hogwarts in disguise. I can't see Tom letting him go on his lonesome if he does.**

**\- Will there be a time skip? Yes, between parts. This one will be about eight months to Part 2. **

**\- Will Tom age? No, that's one thing I am certain of. Tom's body will forever be sixteen, that's part of the Horcrux magic. In my headcannon, Voldemort realized he wasn't aging by the time he finished sixth year, and preformed a ritual to make it so he can age as he likes. This Tom here though quite likes all the bonuses that come with a pretty face ie, being underestimated and being able to charm people, so that won't be happening for him. **

**\- Interactions with Luna; I have plans for that girl, so we'll get to that later on, that's a promise.**

**-Any MoD links in this story? I'm not yet sure how the Master of Death business will fit into this story, but it's not out of the running, that's for certain.**

**.**

**Many thank you's for reading, I hope you liked it enough to review,**

**Tsume  
xxx**


	5. Part 2, Chapter 1

**The Counterfeit Cousin**

_x_

**_Part 2  
_Chapter 1**

Sat up to the lightly coloured breakfast table, Harry James Potter smiled to himself as he went about slathering strawberry jam upon his toast. Around him the kitchen was littered with all things breakfast. The electronic coffee-pot chimed, signalling it was ready to be poured. Harry set about making Tom's coffee when he heard the older boy shuffling about upstairs. No milk or sugar; Tom had once said that he liked it 'as black as his soul'. Harry wasn't too sure what that meant, but he did know how to make a good coffee now, and didn't mind having it on the table for when his fellow Parselmouth would show up. He was dreadful without his morning wake-up-slap in a cup.

It'd been eight months since Harry had been taken in by Tom, and it was the turning point in his life. He'd never been better cared for. He knew what it was like to receive three meals a day now, what it meant to have someone looking out for him. Tom was a little odd, Harry knew that much. He was pleasant and always took the time to make sure Harry was okay, but the younger boy could feel an undercurrent of something. It was always there, he just wasn't sure what it was. Nor did he particularly want to find out.

It was now a beautiful morning in late August, the sun lighting the large kitchen through the eastern-facing windows. Harry had never been outside of Surrey before, so his current stay in France had made sure to make him feel nothing short of royalty. He'd picked up a bit of the language, especially from Tom, who spoke it fluently, as if he'd been born and raised here. Harry was always finding out the older boy knew more and more things than Harry had thought someone could ever know, but given the fact all he'd known his life were less than stellar muggles, that wasn't much of a surprise. He was desperate to become as smart at Tom, and thus, he'd spent most of these eight months seriously studying magic, both the practical and theatrical side. His wand always sung beneath his fingers, eager to preform whatever magic he asked of it. He was determined, he was going to be as good as Tom, nothing would stop him.

The only problem with this was that no matter how many books Harry ate his way through, Tom seemed to inhale them twice as fast. Harry hadn't even been able to pronounce the titles on most of Tom's books. And it made him burn inside, his resolution solidifying with every ancient tome Tom placed upon his finished pile. He would become equally as smart as the boy, as well-read and in control of himself even if it killed him.

The door opened with a low swish, permitting Tom's entrance. Unlike any other waking hour of the day, the older boy was not the picture of perfection. Bleary eyes took in the table that was set up, one hand pawing at the handle of his coffee cup until it was firmly in his grasp. Harry watched the movements as he took another bite of his toast, smiling slightly.

The seven year old loved mornings, they were the best time of day. Because that was when Tom seemed the most normal. When he was just like any other teenaged boy Harry had seen. Disgusted with the world of early morning. Tom didn't sleep often, Harry had seen him go for days without once retreating to a bed or sofa to get a nap.

However, when Tom did decide it was time to rest, he really did sleep. He didn't toss or turn in his sleep, he would just lay down and be all but dead to the world for twelve hours. And he didn't like being woken up, something that showed in his movements for an hour of so after he'd managed to turf himself from whatever nest he'd created for his rest. It was there in the way he dropped in a gracefully heavy manner into the chair, how he protectively clutched the coffee cup closer to his body as if it were to warm his limbs with the heat produced by the contents of the porcelain cup. His hair was ruffled, flat on one side before sticking up chaotically on the other, yet still retaining it's half-waves. When he felt there was no threat greater than himself, Tom was almost at ease with Harry in a morning.

But the younger boy knew that just because Tom was all but curled over his coffee like someone might snatch it away, it didn't mean the boy wasn't on the ball.

As evident on their third day in this house, when there had been a knock at the door and Tom had been armed with his wand and positioned to attack within the second it took for Harry to look up. However, it'd been a false call, as it was only the beautiful neighbour from next-door, welcoming them to the rural beach village. Of course, Tom had been his usual polite self when he opened the door, but Harry had never once forgotten how vicious the older male had looked a moment before, regardless of his dishevelled hair and rumpled pyjamas.

Someday Harry was going to react like that, but for now, he had to fetch the bacon out of the oven before it burned.

.

As the morning went on, Tom became progressively sharper, all at a relaxed pace as he enjoyed the breakfast that Harry had made. The two of them took turns cooking, seeing as the older boy was determined to make sure Harry could survive anything the world were to throw at him. And that meant knowing how to cook his own food.

Tom had taken the time to explain about house-elves, and how they were the core of a traditionalist Pure-blood household. They cooked, they cleaned, yet if there was a rebellion, a good many Pure-bloods would die of hunger in their dirty homes. It was called being self-sufficient apparently. When he'd left, Harry was sure the Dursley's were struggling to manage their house in the wake of his dissertation, seeing as they didn't have him to work for them anymore. Tom had given a dark laugh when he pointed this out before agreeing that the muggles had become too dependant on Harry, and were now suffering as a result. They'd had Harry cook every morning since he turned five and could do everything to a satisfactory level, even if he had to stand on a stool to reach the stove. While Tom only wanted Harry to cook on the mornings where the older boy actually slept in.

Since Tom seemed to only sleep semiweekly, unless it was a good week that saw him sleep three nights instead of two, then Harry would normally wake up to a meal prepared by Tom every five days. It was much better than what he'd known before living with his many times removed cousin, so he wasn't going to argue. He quite liked cooking for Tom, because at least the boy appreciated his effort unlike the Dursleys.

"Have you finished your essay on the leg-locking jinx?" Recently Tom had taken to having Harry write an essay on a spell, researching points about it, and then he'd read through it and make corrections. According to Tom, it was to improve his ghastly English. Considering he'd had to look up the word ghastly in a dictionary, Harry had begrudgingly agreed it was a must.

"It's on my desk, give me a sec'." Leaping to his feet, Harry jogged down the hallway, gripping the banister of the stairs as he swung himself around to change his direction. He stopped short of leaping up the stairs when the door-bell gave a shrill ring.

Up to the table where he was reading the morning paper, Tom froze in place, a scowl covering his lips as a smile broke out across Harry's.

The younger boy didn't know why Tom didn't seem to like Cosette, Harry personally thought she was really nice. Cosette was the daughter of Mrs Bellamy, who was the woman that lived a house over. He'd found in his books information about veelas, and Cosette had been more than happy to confirm the fact her grandmother had been a veela. She'd been looking at Tom when she'd said this, a funny smile on her face as she did so. Harry just thought that Cosette was exceptionally beautiful, and with the way she looked all light and pretty, that she'd probably make a good girlfriend for Tom, who was all dark and captivating.

When he'd voiced this opinion aloud in his broken French, Cosette had looked positively delighted, but Harry couldn't quite understand Tom's horrified face. Ever since the older boy had first met her, he'd never stuck around long enough to really talk to her again. When Harry had asked Tom about it, why Cosette wanted to keep talking to Tom even though Tom clearly didn't like here in anyway -which Harry could not understand- Tom had just patted him on the head and promised he'd explain when Harry was older.

And according to Tom's desire to not speak to Cosette, the two of them had settled into a routine.

"Where are you today?" Harry asked, tilting his head back to look at Tom as he approached the front door.

"Getting eggs from the market, we're out," came the smooth reply, and Harry didn't need to look back to know Tom had made himself invisible with Harry's cloak. He didn't mind Tom using it to hide from Cosette, he always found it funny that the boy he'd pegged to not be afraid of anything seemed more than happy to avoid a girl not a year younger than him. Pulling open the door, Harry tilted his head back, taking in the blonde haired princess that was now stood on their door-step.

"Hi Cosette."

"Bonjour Harry. Tom home?" Cosette's English wasn't brilliant, she'd never seen any reason to learn it according to Mrs Bellamy. But she'd started learning as soon as they moved in funnily enough. Harry was just pleased he wasn't the only one struggling with foreign words, though why Cosette seemed determined to learn English when she lived in France and didn't plan to move to England, Harry wasn't sure.

"No, he's gone to the market to get some eggs."

Cosette had learnt the word for market out of necessity, because aside from 'he's on the beach' or 'he's gone to the bank', Harry didn't really offer much explanation as to where Tom's latest fake adventure had taken him.

"Maybe if you're quick you'll catch him! He said he was buying a lot of eggs to take home with us."

"Oh! Leave for England zoon zen?"

Harry nodded, watching as the teenaged girl bounded down the pretty front garden, calling out a goodbye as she went, desperate to catch Tom for whatever reason. Closing the door, Harry frowned at Tom, sliding the lock shut.

"You shouldn't lie to Cosette Tom, she wants to see you before we go."

It'd been a week since they had received a letter from the goblins, informing them that the super-base -Harry really didn't think any other name could be applied to the construction Tom had paid the goblins to build, other than calling it a lair- was complete. They could move in as soon as they were ready. And Tom was determined to get them back in the country before September, which was why they were leaving later today.

"Mmm," Tom handed the invisibility cloak back to Harry absent-mindedly, still mopping up the last of his breakfast with his final slice of fried bread, "I'll consider it. You should go pack your things Harry. Remember that spell I taught you."

Grinning, Harry gave a twirl of his wrist, wand popping out of the holster on his arm in response. He loved it when Tom let him use his magic.

* * *

With Harry off upstairs stuffing all of his belonging into his charmed trunk, Tom let out a low breath, eyelids fluttering shut. It'd been a long eight months. At first he'd been dancing cautiously around Harry, unsure of how to deal with the boy. He hadn't dealt with small children since he was one himself, and he was trying to endear himself to Harry, not traumatize the boy, so he couldn't really use his past experience with children as an example. In the end, he'd taken to treating Harry like he'd been required to treat the first years as a perfect at Hogwarts. While he may be pushing Harry a bit harder than someone else would push a six -now seven- year old, Tom was pleased with the results.

Harry enjoyed his company, and Tom didn't find the boy all that terrible. Perhaps it was the fact the boy was as captivated with magic as what Tom was, so focused on learning that Tom could actually see the greatness in the boy's potential now. That, or it was the Horcrux in his head that made him somewhat amiable to Harry's presence. Maybe a little of both.

Regardless, this wasn't the pure torture he'd thought it to be. He'd been left well enough alone that he'd been able to tear through all the light magic books he could get his hands on, along with some dark tomes the Lestrange family had hoarded away when the light material made him want to go an torture someone. And maybe burn down a muggle town while he was at it.

He now felt he had sufficient enough knowledge to begin really experimenting with the other side of magic, one he'd not really touched on before. He was first going to attempt a Patronus, just to make sure he was truly as competent as he felt. And he was going to have Harry learn to preform the charm alongside him. It was emotion based, and while a complex piece of magic, the boy could always work on it with that stubborn determination that seemed to have been bred into him. The boy would master the charm. Eventually.

Just like he had the little packing charm Tom had spent the last three days teaching him. He'd been playing it off as a lesson, while in reality they'd slowly been moving through the house, packing anything useful so that it'd save him time doing just the odd bits today. S

peaking of odd bits, he needed to go and retrieve Thuban's collection of broomsticks. Harry had all but claimed them once he'd realized how amazing flying was -Tom took his word for it, as pleased about flying around on a stick as he'd been in his first year, which was not at all- and made Tom promise to bring them with him. He indulged the boy because he was rather graceful in the air, and the hand eye co-ordination that came with chasing after a snitch could only transfer over to his duelling skills.

"Tom!"

He would rather repent and become the next Albus Dumbledore than admit to the fact he'd actually jumped at the sudden appearance of Cosette. Irritating burned thick inside of his veins as he turned to look at the girl that'd all but materialized in the back-garden of Lestrange's holiday house. He'd been certain she'd gone off to the market once again, but apparently that was too much to hope for. He'd had to force himself not the snap the girl's neck the first day she'd set eyes on him.

He hadn't needed to be a Legilimens to know exactly what she was thinking. He knew how veela worked, even if the girl before him held only a quarter of creature blood. Veela were attracted to a pretty face, but they'd chase after the strongest mate they could find.

Unfortunately for Tom, he just so happened to be the strongest wizard within France at the moment, and his magical power had called out to this young woman like a lemon drop to Dumbledore. He hadn't been able to shake her, she was far too persistent and he without doubt had no time for the woman. He was far too busy, far too focused to even think about carnal pleasures, and he would certainly have no relationship with someone as weak as the woman before him, that did nothing but trail after him like a lost puppy.

And there had been that one horrifying thought of if he did indulge in one bout of no-strings attached sex with the part-veela, he was almost certain Harry would barge in on it. And then he'd be stuck explain that to the boy. Something that was exceedingly low on his list of things he desired to do.

In fact, when the boy turned ten, Tom just planned on throwing several books on the subject at him, because that'd been enough information for Tom to wrap his head around the idea of reproduction.

"Cosette, lovely to see you. Harry just informed me that I missed you by a few minutes. Or, at least I thought I did." He'd gone out of his way to appear like he knew no French to this girl and her family, because heaven help him if he was to have her company forced upon him, there was no way he planned on letting the woman know he could speak her language. Then he might be forced to have a conversation with her.

The fact he could insult her in English as long as he kept his voice smooth and sounding like he was saying something pleasing was just a bonus really.

"Tom and Harry home zoon," Cosette murmured, angling her shoulders back and pressing her assets forwards, almost as if for his inspection. He made sure not to pay any attention to them, anything to politely get it through the girl's thick skull that he was not interested. Even if he was going to lose himself in the throngs of pleasure for a bit, he would do with with someone actually worth his time. No matter how pretty the girl's genetics made her appearance, her personality remained flat, her attempts at conversation dry. His lips parted to speak again, only for his mouth to dry.

Something heavy was resting in the air, clouding his thoughts and sending him scrambling to try and regain control of both his body and brain. Years of Occlumency let him know he was losing control of his actions to an outside force, and it took but moments before he realized what it was. Full power veela allure. And there were lips upon his. Smooth as silk lips rubbing against his own ever so slightly chapped ones.

The second he realize that yes, this stupid cur was trying to seduce him with such an underhanded and desperate tactic, his temper flared in such a way that it would shame a volcanic eruption. His wand was in his pocket, but he made no move to retrieve it. He didn't need to.

Instead, he just stepped back and watched.

Watched as her head grew bigger and bigger, resembling a balloon filled with a bit too much air. And then, it burst, sending bits of brain matter everywhere. Tom gave a dark smirk and his temper died and bloodlust sung; the definition of an airhead indeed. It was somewhat amusing the veela blood was just as red as his own, not even with a silvery sheen to it.

Not so special after all.

.

Harry stared at him. It was around this point that Tom remembered blowing up someone's head came with consequences. Mainly a lot of blood covering his robes. Splattered all up his face in fact. Even a bit of brain in his hair. Lovely, maybe he should take some of the girl's hair for potions ingredients. Would a quarter veela work?

Wordlessly summoning one of the kitchen towels, Tom drew it across his face thrice, frowning at the thick red liquid and pieces of skin that came away on the cream material. That'd been a waste of a perfectly good towel, that much was evident.

"What happened?" Harry asked, voice showing just the correct amount of horror for someone of his age. Of course Tom had never killed anyone in front of the boy, not yet. Though they were no close, even if there had been the occasional few upsets over the past year, he wasn't sure he wished to test Harry so much that he'd preform a murder for the boy to witness. He might still be able to work with this.

There was always the options of wiping his memory of these last few minutes.

"Miss Cosette felt entitled to something she had no claim over." No point in lying to the boy. Especially since Harry had been planning on writing to the girl to continue improving his French.

"That's Cosette's blood?! We have to help her!"

Clamping down a hand on Harry's shoulder before the boy could race off and witness what was no doubt a grizzly scene of murder, Tom forced the boy to skid to a halt, brain whirling on how he was going to twist this tale so that it was as favourable as possible for him, whilst still telling the truth.

"Cosette is beyond help Harry. Do you know how babies are made?"

Struck by the sudden change in topic, Harry shook his head, evidently confused. His bright green eyes, those chillingly coloured eyes, kept darting to the back-garden which was just out of view.

"Children are made by both a boy and a girl, usually around my own age or older. Cosette, ultimately, wanted to have a baby with me, and she attempted to do this against my will."

Still disconcerted, Harry just stared back at him, uncomprehendingly.

"That meant she'd have had me leave you." Not really, but Cosette would have definitely wanted him to spend as much time as possible on whatever offspring she'd have birthed if her plan had succeeded. It seemed to hit home for the younger boy though when Tom continued explaining, "what she did was against the law. You're not suppose to make a child unless both the boy and the girl want to. She tried forcing me, and if I wasn't' stronger, it would have worked. She was very, very bad."

"Like the man who killed my parents?" And this conversation just got dangerously.

Calmly flicking his wand to vanish the blood staining his attire, Tom knelt before Harry, trying to keep the annoyance he felt at the gesture off his face.

"There are many reasons why someone could kill another. Self defence is an example, which while it may be an extreme reaction, is what I just did. War is another. War is where two sides fight for their beliefs. You've read about necromancy in some of the books here, right Harry? At least the theory?"

"Yeah," Harry chewed on his lips, looking distressed but less inclined to run out to check on Cosette's remains now. Good, he was making progress.

"Can you remind me what you said when you first asked me about necromancy?"

"I wanted to talk to my parents. I wanted to know if I could use the magic to do that." Not the most eloquent way of putting it, but the boy was spot on.

Harry had stumbled across and read a book about necromancy three months ago, and been enraptured by the idea of it. That he might talk to his dead parents made something funny twist about in Tom's chest. He didn't have any parents he wanted to contact. His mother was a weak willed woman not worth mentioning, and the less said about his father, the better.

"I told you that dark magic like necromancy was illegal in Europe. But what if someone was murdered and the Aurors didn't know what happened? A necromancer could summon up the spirit of the one killed and get the answer. It would put a killer behind bars, would it not?"

"So why don't they do that?" Harry had slumped forwards now, all but sitting on the knee Tom had extended forwards whilst kneeling, an exaggerated pout upon his lips.

"Because the idiots in charge of Britain don't like what they don't understand. They think it's too much power, they think the dark arts are no good. But if you could use it to stop a murderer, would you? Of course you would. The other part of me saw this, and decided that he wanted to fight for that side of the war. Can you blame him?"

There was a stretch of silence as Harry sat there, staring at Tom like he'd just put the biggest of all puzzles together, and that he didn't like the picture it was presenting him with. Harry slowly stood up, his hands shaking a bit and Tom watched his wearily, regretting for the first time that he'd started Harry on Occlumency. If he read the boy's mind now to find out what he was thinking, Harry would recognise the feeling, and all the trust he'd built up so far would come crashing down at his feet.

"You grow up to be him," Harry voice was so quiet that Tom could barely hear him, "You grow up to be the one that killed my parents."

How had the boy worked that out?

Tom raced through everything he'd ever said to Harry, but he couldn't pick out anything that would offer a strong suggestion to Harry that the rest of his soul had in fact grown up to become Voldemort. Had he not given the boy enough credit? Was Harry smarter than he'd been expecting?

"You'd never follow someone. You lead," Harry muttered, answering the question of how he'd put it all together as he look up at him with those big green eyes, the emeralds glistened with betrayal. He couldn't argue with that, he'd show Harry the respect he'd earned by figuring this out. He wouldn't lie about it, because the boy would have the find out at some point. It was best for it to happen now while he could still exercise some control of the situation.

"The other half of my soul that didn't get sealed away for forty years did grow up to become Voldemort. I won't deny it Harry." He needed to separate himself from Voldemort, and reminding Harry he'd been out of action, so to speak, for forty years would work towards doing that. He could see the boy had caught the words, but was stubborn about fully addressing them.

"You killed my parents."

"The other half of my soul killed two people on the opposite side of the war to him, yes. They fought for their beliefs as did Voldemort. Just like you wanted to do when I told you about the ban on necromancy that Europe stands by."

Harry was faltering, Tom could see it. Even if the boy was as physically independent as a seven year old could get, he was still emotionally dependant on Tom. The only person who'd ever gone out of his way to care for Harry as far as the boy could remember. As far as Tom's understanding of emotions went, the boy would be warring with himself inside, trying to wrap the kind teen with the idea of his dead parents. He was almost ninety percent sure that Harry wouldn't be able to make it fit correctly. He could probably jam the two pieces of information together, but it would come out in a favourable conclusion for Tom. Of that, he was sure.

"Am I a bad son for wanting to be on the other side of the war?" And there it was. The self doubt. So heavy in the air he could almost taste it.

"Harry, the two of us share a common ancestor. And yet, we somehow ended up on opposite ends of the war before it came to it's momentary halt. That wouldn't be possible if every child followed their parents beliefs. You are an individual, and your beliefs belong to you, the same way that my beliefs belong to me. No one can tell you want to think Harry. Not even me. No matter how much I try." He was horrid at jokes, but he managed to get the slightest twitch from Harry's lips, as if the boy was fighting smiling at his words. Progress, he guessed.

"I still do not know why Voldemort sought your parents out specifically, but I do plan to find out. There are a lot of things that the other half of me has done that makes no sense, I do not agree with some of the things he has done, that I can promise you. Just like now if you were to go back to the Dursleys you wouldn't act the same. Our experiences change us, both inside and out Harry. And you're exceptionally mature to be able to understand even a bit of this. I doubt your parents would hate you for your whatever you think, because they gave their lives trying to defend you. They had to have loved you very much, which is something I almost envy you for. But you can always ask them."

At the boy's confused, hurt and painfully hopeful face, Tom reached out and fluffed up Harry's hair, ignoring the way the boy first flinched and then leant into the gesture.

"How?"

"By becoming a necromancer." That had perhaps been his best bit of acting yet, and he'd not even had to erase any memories.

The best part was that Harry seemed to have completely forgotten about Cosette's death now. That certainly hadn't been ten minutes wasted.

.

The rhythmical thunk thunk of a trunk hitting each step upon the large staircase as Harry pulled his luggage down was music to Tom's ears. He was rather eager to get out of France now. Sure it'd been a good getaway whilst his newest hideout was being built, and it was the perfect place to receive the Daily Prophet from England.

The newspaper which had gotten wind of Harry's disappearance about a month after it had happened. Dumbledore was still being slaughter by the press, who were keeping a tally of how many days Harry had been missing, along with all the facts and speculation they'd managed to get on his life so far. Which was a surprising about, considering Dumbledore had said to have been viciously guarding any information about the boy who lived viciously. Obviously the reporters were far better researchers than what they had been back in the forties. It'd been a great feeling to sit back with his feet up, watching the very reason Dumbledore was being dragged through the mud fly about on a broom.

Especially when the Prophet had contacted Harry's previous guardians and realized they were pathological liars with obvious problems. It'd taken all of Dumbledore's power for the Dursley's address to not leak out to the vengeful public.

There were a great many letters to the paper, all begging for their precious saviour to be returned in good health. Hell, there were even people offering money for his safe return. For Tom Riddle, who'd been the unwanted orphan mudblood the vast majority of his time at Hogwarts, to see the other end of the spectrum was magnificent. These people were climbing over themselves for Harry's safe return. It was just a shame that out of all the people in the country, Tom was the one who had the greatest claim to the boy. The boy, after all, held a sliver of his soul. That made Harry his. And he'd fight anyone to the death -their death, not his- over it.

However, there was only so much of France he could take. While it'd been nice to visit another country, something he'd never done before, it had quickly lost it's appeal. It was no different from England, other than a slightly warmer climate and an irritating language. Oh, Tom had been speaking French since he was five, back when a war veteran had been gracious enough to offer lessons up for the poor little orphans. He'd been fluent by the time he was seven. Just another show of his superior intelligence. Harry was picking it up quicker, but he also had more opportunity to hear the language than the biweekly visits that Tom had gotten.

He'd thought it before, but it truly was a blessing that his little Horcrux wasn't stupid. Then he really would have just locked the boy up somewhere, for both their safety. For if he had to put up with stupidity without the rules of Hogwarts breathing down his neck, he'd no doubt have committed homicide. Which was why Cosette was in the position she was in right now.

Or rather, her lack of position right now, considering her head was currently splattered across the lawn.

"Ready to go Harry?" The boy was significantly more subdued than he'd been early this morning, but finding out that the teen he'd been looking up to was the other half of a psychotic killer would no doubt have that kind of effect on a person. Compared to Voldemort, he was a surprisingly well adjusted individual. Then again, comparing anyone against Voldemort would make them look like a saint, so perhaps that wasn't the best description.

"Yeah... How long will we be staying at The Super-Base?"

"Don't call it that," Tom muttered automatically. Ever since the both of them had finalized the plans for their new home within the first month, Harry had been calling it The Super-Base or The Lair. Tom, who had been quite happy with calling it by the respectable 'Slytherin's Keep', was rather upset the boy persisted on giving it such an irritating name.

"Why? That's what it is?"

"Yes, but it's not the most memorable of names, nor will it strike fear into our enemies hearts."

"What enemies? And I thought that we weren't telling everyone where The Super-Base was, so why does the name matter?" The little teasing smile on Harry's lips, so much weaker than usual but still present, let Tom know that the brat was joking with him. Regardless, he cuffed the boy around the head, Harry giggling when he did so.

"Just grab onto the Port-key."

One hand still on his trunk, Harry reached out and took a hold of the small silver chain. Upon the contact, there was a tug behind their naval and the two of them left France for the foreseeable future.

.

Landing in the ballroom of Slytherin Keep, Tom smoothly adjusted the sleeves of his charmed cool dress-shirt, smirking at the mess of Harry that laid upon the floor.

"Still can't stick the port-key landing?"

Harry huffed, raising his head to snap back a retort -he'd been sure to explain to the boy the joys of verbal sparring- but the words died upon his lips as he took in the sight of the ballroom. Tom could understand the boy's reaction.

Slytherin Keep had been inspired by Hogwarts, only on a smaller, more manageable scale. It was made up of one main, circular building at the center serving as the entrance, with five more towers situated beyond it, forming a ring like structure with each one connected by a corridor. The best thing about these corridors was that they did not remain at ground level, they could rise between the floors of each tower, depending upon the will of both Tom had Harry. He'd allowed Harry to design one tower, and have an input with everything else.

But the main building was what Tom was most proud of. T

he ground floor was a large, oval shaped ballroom, with ten columns rising up from the floor to support the ceiling. Both were decorated with snake carvings of various breeds, that Tom would be bringing to life with a whispered word in Parseltongue. Mainly to always have ears upon the guests. There were carvings and paintings of snakes everywhere, and both he and Harry -along with the currently Albanian bound Voldemort- being the only wizards capable of communicating with them. The windows for the ballroom were large arches, letting in as much light as possible but charmed to show only the surrounding area, as if the rest of the castle was invisible from that viewpoint. They were also made so that the inside of the ballroom would always look empty if one were to gaze through from the outside. It was a work of art, but not his favourite room.

Instead, that was tied between the next level of the main-room, and the attic room above that. For above the ballroom lay a large, exquisitely made table, which could see the room double as both somewhere to dine, and somewhere to hold important meetings. On the back of each chair were a pair of intertwining snakes, and upon both chairs and the ends of the table were carvings rising from the sides, six hissing snake heads. All the more snakes to intimidate his followers with. The darkened windows and low lighting cast just the right amount of foreboding for the environment a Dark Lord should inhabit.

Tom had always taken advantage of the dark, even during his years at Hogwarts. Especially during his fifth one, where the Heir of Slytherin had ruled his house with an iron fist. He didn't need to mention his own room in this little castle -along with the one he'd step up fro Voldemort should the spirit ever manage to get a body together- was awash with big windows and bright light.

The attic room was perhaps the room he was looking forwards to using most. Because it was a duelling room. With a regulation platform, along with warded benches for safe watching. He'd begin teaching Harry right away. But first, he had to gather all the Death Eaters that he could. And for that, he needed a plan.

"We throw parties in here?" Harry whispered beside him, eyes wide in shock, jumping when three house-elves popped into existence around them. He'd sent a request to the goblins for a trio of house-elves, because there was no way he was keeping this large home clean on his lonesome.

"I is Kookie, I is appointed head-elf for Master and lil Master."

"Am Snorky."

"Iz Crumble."

Tom sighed, trying not to roll his eyes at the way the house-elves slaughtered English. He already planned on treating these elves the same way he did the Hogwarts elves, with polite indifference. They were very useful creatures and would move heaven and earth if you were kind enough to them.

"Hi Kookie, Snorky and Crumble. My name's Harry and this is Tom. We're cousins."

"Wez know lil Master, Wez will be looking after yez. Welcome home!" And the trio popped away with their trunks, no doubt going off to ready their rooms for them.

It should be interesting locating them, because until Tom had the wards set up, the rooms -all but those in the building they were currently stood in- were set to jump around between the five towers. So while Harry may go to sleep in the North-Western tower, it was quite possible that Tom would be the one waking up there the next morning, with Harry moved to another. An excellent defence system, which will confused everyone not tied to the wards he planned to put up, which would direct the both of them to any room they required.

"Well Harry, I do believe that Slytherin Keep is rather large for the both of us. Shall we go and get ourselves some guests?"

* * *

Petunia Dursley was having a rough year. It'd been eight months since Vernon was attacked in their own home, eight months since her little freak of a nephew had been taken. She'd thought it good riddance, until all those other freaks had come knocking. First if was that oddball head-master, who'd been frantic about finding out where Harry was. Vernon had turned a rather painful shade of red before he'd bellowed that the boy's cousin had come for him, a boy who'd looked far too normal to be one of their lot. He'd describe the boy to Petunia, said he looked like an upper-class young man who'd been rather charming until he'd suddenly found himself on the floor, unable to move.

The fact the brat had stood purposely on his hand as he exited his house with the freak had been the last straw.

And then the law enforcements of that unnatural world had come along, asking all sorts of questions about their missing nephew. Petunia had thankfully had the forethought to move all the boy's stuff up into Dursley's second room, if only so they didn't realize the boy had been sleeping in the under-stairs cupboard. As if that wasn't enough, she'd suddenly had all the house-work to do again.

She could hardly relax now, having to do all her gardening and cleaning and cooking for the men in her life. But she was determined that her little Dudders not have to raise a finger, not when he should be out, enjoying his childhood and being a charming young man with all the neighbours and his friends. The three of them had decided to enjoy the last few days of summer before Dudley was pulled off to that substandard school that just couldn't teach the sharp mind her boy had, so the family of three were currently at the zoo.

Dudley was standing upon his tiptoes, after triumphing over another boy to get the prime spot to see the large lion behind the glass. Vernon was stood just behind him, making the other boy think twice about going over to his dad to complain that he was weaker than her little Dudders. Of course he was no match for her baby boy, she kept him well fed and healthy.

"Shall we go see the reptile house now Dudley?" Vernon mused, moustache twitching upon his lips as he spoke. Her beloved husband was pleased, because even though those freaks had been coming over to their house, the reporters had been willing to pay a shiny coin for whatever information they would willing give them about their nephew. For some reason, they had been rather disturbed to hear that as a young boy, the freak had dreamt of a green light and a high pitched laugh. Petunia had never gotten the newspapers, like she'd want something those freaks wrote, but she knew only good things could be said about their family. After all, they'd been kind enough to take the little freak in, who'd left them the second something better had come along.

Following after the two male Dursleys, Petunia paused slightly as she clocked movement from the corner of her eye. Just off to the left, also entering the large reptile house, were two boys, one achingly familiar.

Terror ran through her, because this couldn't be the boy. The posh looking cousin had taken him away with no intention of returning him as far as she was aware. But there he was, no glasses with his hair swept at just the right angle to hide the hideous scar upon his forehead. She knew those eyes, for the shade would forever haunt her. They approached, and the boy seemed to realize she was here at the same time that she began to address him.

"What are you doing here?!" She hissed between clenched teeth. Annoyance surged through her as she realized the boy was wearing clothing of better quality than what was on her Dudley's back. He looked maddeningly well cared for, as if he'd had the best that money could buy. Her eyes shot to the older, distant cousin that had to be from the Potter side. Because no self respecting relative of hers would have taken the boy in. But the acidic words she was going to spit died on her tongue.

The boy was beautiful. He couldn't be a day over sixteen, with a perfectly pristine appearance, dark blue eyes calm and even appearing somewhat amused by her daring to approach them. His gaze made her feel inferior, like prey before a predator. He could rip her apart if he wished, this boy that looked like an angel and felt like the devil.

"I believe we are going to look at the snakes, that is why we are approaching the building where they are housed."

God, he even spoke like he was upper-class.

She caught three teenaged girls looking at him in the past minute, all appreciative. This boy, had Petunia been a teenager, would have been the untouchable. He was the kind that could only be looked upon from afar, never allowed to get close because he was so far beyond her level. Some part deep inside her admitted that Dudley would never hold a candle to this terrible, beautiful boy, and that made her furious.

"This is a zoo for normal people! Surely you-"

"'I'll take the fact that you don't consider myself and Harry normal as a compliment. After all, the both of us are quite rich and have talents that several Lords would kill for. Oh, did you not know your nephew had a fortune in wizarding bank? Shame, your sister did marry quite well, but I suppose you weren't really interested in her life, were you? Come along Harry?"

.

Petunia could only stumble after the duo, watching as they approached the large snake exhibits that stretched across a good half of the corridor. She watched as her little nephew pointed to the largest of the snakes present, then gesturing to a bright green snake that was curled up along one tree-branch. Her husband obviously recognised the boy, for he stood tall, nostrils flaring and taking a step towards the two. That's when it happened.

Suddenly, all the glass that'd been between the visitors and the many, many snakes was gone. Screams began echoing through the room in a multi toned symphony as the serpents all began slithering from the habitats, collecting at the feet of her freak nephew and his even freakier cousin. The older freak smiled, lips parting and terrible hissing noises filled the air. Petunia frozen, words Lily had spoken long again slowly making their way through her mind once again.

'_There's a bad wizard that's at war with the Wizarding world 'Tunie, you need to be careful. Especially of snakes, he can speak to them. And he hates the non-magical,_'. But it couldn't be, could it?

The boy was no older than sixteen, but who knew what demonic things magic could do. If they could fly, what's to say they couldn't remain young forever. Her breath was caught in her throat even as Vernon pulled both her and Dudley to the exit, though not quick enough to miss her nephew whispering to the snakes too, whispers that certainly were not in human tongue. The snakes were a withering mess around the boys now, and when the freak's cousin caught her nephew's arm, he twisted on the spot, disappearing and taking all the snakes with them.

And Petunia prayed that it was the last time she'd ever see the both of them.

She didn't think she could handle any more of this unnaturalness, and she would most certainly not speak to any of their lot ever again. She would avoid them like the plague, because if she ignored them, eventually they'd go away. If they saw nothing special about Petunia and her family, if they were all but hostile, then they'd have no reason to keep seeking them out.

Right?

* * *

**I wanted to get out at least one more chapter before I went away on holiday, so here it is, even if it's 2,000 words shorter than normal, so please forgive me for that. **

**So, Harry figures out that half of Tom grew up to be Voldemort. He's trying to deny it right now, and I hope I got that across. We'll see a bit more of that in the next chapter. Along with Tom's plans to begin advancing things along with his attempts at a Patronus. Which should be fun to write.**

**I describe the bit of Slytherin Keep -yes, Tom is big headed enough to name his little castle that- that I have drawn up. I'll make a little tumblr for it when I'm done. **

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**Queries;  
\- I'm afraid the webpage reviews for all my stories aren't loading for some reason, so any questions make a review and I'll answer through PM.**

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**Many thank you's for reading, I hope you liked it enough to review,**

**Tsume  
xxx**


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